Team Players
by maryh10000
Summary: How team Mustang came together. They weren't always a team, but they were always team players. Jean Havoc, Kain Fuery, Vato Falman, Heymans Breda, Riza Hawkeye. Usual Disclaimer. Rating for language and reference to violence.
1. Havoc

**Jean Havoc**

_Author's Note: This was originally going to be four chapters showing the stories behind the pictures on Vol 15, page 169. The chapters: Jean Havoc, Kain Fuery, Vato Falman and Heymans Breda were the original chapters. It was expanded on request._

* * *

Roy Mustang was promoted to Lieutenant Colonel for being a "Hero of Ishval," and was assigned to East HQ under the command of Lt General Grumman. Grumman created an office for him and provided him with staffing requisitions for an aide, an enlisted man, and three officers. His job was to shore up the short-fall of State Alchemists after the Civil War and to relieve Grumman of whatever he didn't want to do.

* * *

Three interviews so far today, and every one of them a waste. Oh, they had looked good on paper: each one was a second or first lieutenant with excellent marksmanship skills. But every one had been in Ishval, every one had sucked up to him as a "Hero of Ishval," and every one had congratulated him for "giving those bastards what they deserved."

Just one more interview before lunch, and it looked like it was going to be more of the same. Another Ishval vet with excellent marksmanship skills. And looking at the transcript, he had barely managed to graduate from the Academy.

The young man saluted almost insolently when he reported for the interview and then took his seat.

Roy recognized him from the shooting range. The second lieutenant had always seemed to be there whenever Roy was passing by, and once, he had struck up a conversation with him.

"I'm from the eastern countryside, near where the civil war was fought," he'd said, when Roy had asked how he'd ended up in the military. "I wanted to do something to help, so I joined the Academy. I ain't the brightest, but I get by."

He started the interview with the usual question. "Why do you want to work for me?"

"I don't, sir," Havoc answered.

That was new.

"Then why are you here?" Roy asked, amused.

"You called me in, sir," he answered. "Guess there's been a mistake. Should I go now?" he asked, looking hopefully at the Lieutenant Colonel.

"Just a moment," Roy said, and looked at the folder with Havoc's Military History form again. Everyone on his list was supposed to be a volunteer, but sure enough, the block for "Source" on the Staff Requisition Form said "Requested by Officer," not "Volunteer." Then he saw the scribbled note from Maes paper-clipped to the form. "Worth checking out."

"Apparently, you've impressed a friend of mine," Roy said, noticing the hopeful expression fade from Havoc's face. "But maybe I'd better change my first question. Why don't you want to work for me?"

_Because you're a stuck-up murdering bastard_, thought Jean, but figured it wouldn't be too smart to say that out loud, so he just shrugged. "Guess I'd rather not work for another Ishval vet," he said.

_Not the brightest was right_, thought Roy. He wondered what Maes had seen in him.

"That's going to be pretty hard to avoid, as long as you're at East HQ. Are you looking for a transfer?"

"Well," said Jean, feeling like he was continuing to dig himself deeper, but not sure how to avoid it. "Let's just say I'd rather not work for a Hero of Ishval."

"Really?" Roy said. "You have a problem with what I did in Ishval, Second Lieutenant?"

Dammit, why couldn't the guy just take offense and let him leave? Maybe he'd have to say something he'd regret, and then he'd end up on KP for a month. Or demoted.

"I guess my problem is just with calling anyone involved with Ishval a hero at all, sir," Jean said. "I was on one of the cleanup teams that followed you Alchemists. We killed the survivors, whoever you guys missed. Men, women, children. By the time we got there, they were usually dying anyway. But sometimes we'd find a baby or a really young kid who was still alive and unhurt because its mother or father had covered it with their body."

He paused, then continued. "The first time I found one like that, I brought it back to our squad. The First Looie slit its throat because he didn't want to waste the bullet and told me not to bring another one back. After that, I shot the ones I found unhurt, too. Some guys just left them, but they were going to starve to death, anyway. A bullet to the head seemed less cruel."

Jean locked eyes with the Lieutenant Colonel, but Mustang didn't seem mad at him at all.

"Second Lieutenant Havoc," he said. "How would you like to make sure nothing like that ever happens again?"

* * *

**Author's Note:**

Manga volume 15, p169

"I'm from the eastern countryside, near where the civil war was fought. I wanted to do something to help, so I joined the Academy. I ain't the brightest, but I get by."


	2. Fuery

**Kain Fuery**

The phone was out of order yet again. Roy seemed to get a different enlisted man to fix it every time. Maybe eventually, he'd get one who actually knew how. They'd each come in, spout jargon at him condescendingly, and then ignore him. Sometimes one would get it to work for half an hour. The best one so far had it working for a whole day.

This time, he got a kid with glasses who looked like he was barely old enough to be a private, let alone the sergeant indicated by the single gold ribbon and two stars on his epaulettes. To make matters worse, he seemed to have brought half the electronic equipment at East HQ with him on a trolley.

"Hi, Lt Col Mustang, sir," Kain said, smiling, as he entered the room. Mustang, like most of the other officers, just waved at him to indicate he shouldn't salute. He always seemed to have too much equipment on him to be able to.

He wheeled the trolley with the test equipment up to Mustang's desk.

"Sir," he said, "I know there's been a lot of trouble with the phone in here, so I'd like to do some tests. Would you like me to move the phone to another table? The cord will still reach if I set it over there." And he gestured towards an empty staff table to the left.

"I suppose that's a good idea," said Roy. "You're probably going to take all day, aren't you?"

"The first tests will take about half an hour, sir," Fuery said. "Based on that, I'll be able to give you an idea of what I have to do next and how long that will take. It may take all day, but it may also be fixed in half an hour."

Roy was surprised. The kid had actually used words he could understand. "Aren't you going to tell me exactly what you're doing?" he asked.

The Sergeant's face lit up so brightly that Roy immediately regretted asking. "Do you really want to know, sir?" he asked, eagerly.

"I'm sorry, Sergeant, I really don't think I'd be able to follow it," said Roy, using his most self-deprecating tone to soften the blow. "You look like you'll do a great job. Just keep me informed of your progress."

In two hours, Fuery had finished the tests he needed to do to figure out what was wrong and had fixed the phone. Somehow, when the sergeant moved the phone back to his desk, Roy was sure that it would stay fixed for a long time.

"You're really good at this," he said, pleased to hear the dial tone when he lifted the receiver, although he didn't actually have anyone he needed to call at the moment. "What technical school did you go to?"

Fuery was tinkering with some equipment on the trolley, headphones around his neck. He looked up at the Lt Col. "Well, it's something that just grew out of a hobby. But thank you for the compliment, sir."

"So you're self taught?" Roy asked, interested.

"I had a lot of help from my Warrant Officer in Aerugo," he answered.

"Sounds like a good officer," said Roy. "Where is he now?"

"She died in Aerugo. That's when I took over her job and they gave me my tech quals."

"I'm sorry," Roy said, kicking himself. But he hadn't seen that coming. The kid hadn't changed his expression at all when he'd been talking about her.

"It's okay, sir," he said. "I know I'll see her again when it's my turn to go."

"You're a religious man, Sergeant?" Roy asked.

Kain paused. That was usually a loaded question, but the Lt Colonel didn't seem to be mocking him. "Yes, sir."

"Ishvalan?"

"No sir. But we believe in one god too, like they do. It's too bad things turned out the way they did in Ishval."

Kain looked to see how the Lt Colonel would react to that comment, but he just nodded.

"When you were in Aerugo, did you ever have to kill anyone?"

"Yes, sir," Fuery said. "You can read about it in my file if you'd like to know."

The sergeant looked at Roy with pleading eyes, clearly asking him not to make him talk about it. Roy could understand those sentiments all too well, and let the matter drop.

But he was surprised when he looked up the file later and found out why Kain Fuery was already a sergeant at the age of 19. He'd gotten a combat medal for holding off the enemy for four hours with machine gun fire after every other member of his squad had been incapacitated. There had been only one Amestrian casualty: Warrant Officer Michaels.

* * *

Author's Note:

Manga volume 15, p169

"Well, it's something that just grew out of a hobby. But thank you for the compliment, sir."


	3. Kain Transfers

**Kain's Transfer**

Jean was sitting at his table, all alone, in the staff room. Mustang had handed him the file for Sergeant Fuery along with a stack of forms, said "Bring him over," and then gone off somewhere.

Jean was impressed, he really was. Everyone knew about Fuery. A sweet kid. Didn't really belong in the military and he'd hate to see what he was like in combat - he was nervous with a gun on the range - but almost as good as an alchemist when it came to fixing things. Better, sometimes. Mustang couldn't fix the phone for some reason Jean couldn't understand, but Fuery had.

But now he was going through the forms and looking wistfully out the window, nursing a cigarette, because this pack had to last him till quitting time. He'd liked being assigned to the shooting range. If he were still there, he'd be out on the range right now, instead of looking up Fuery's "school, elementary" from his Civilian History form to enter into block 25 of the Request for Transfer form, part 2 of 6. As for the kid's birthdate, he'd had to enter that so many times he'd actually memorized it.

Next block, decorations. That should be easy, the kid didn't have any. Well, he did wear a combat ribbon, but just about everyone had that. Just meant he'd come under fire somewhere. But that was the only one.

Jean was just paging through Fuery's file to the commendations section when he heard a timid knock on the door. If his hearing hadn't been so good, he might have missed it altogether.

"Come in," he called, relieved at the chance for a distraction from the paperwork.

Kain opened the door a crack. He wasn't quite sure whether he was more relieved or disappointed that the Lt Colonel wasn't there. He recognized Second Lieutenant Havoc, though. Everyone had to spend some time on the range, and Havoc hadn't been as annoyed with him as some of the other range assistants were.

"Hi Fuery," said Havoc. "I was just going through your transfer paperwork."

"Oh," said Fuery, coming into the room. He didn't look particularly pleased. "So I'm really going to be transferred here?"

"Didn't the Lt Colonel ask you first?" Come to think of it, Mustang hadn't exactly asked him either.

"No sir," the sergeant answered. "Lt General Grumman just said he'd asked for me and complained that he was taking ..."

_... one of his best men_, were the words Grumman had used, but Kain thought it would be boastful to say that, so he just said, "Anyway, I think I'd rather stay with Lt General Grumman, if that's okay."

"You want to talk to Mustang about it?" asked Havoc.

"If it can be arranged, sir," Fuery answered.

The kid was nervous, but he had guts, Jean had to give him that. Mustang was pretty intimidating.

He was torn. On the one hand, Mustang wanted this kid and he was a real prize. Just getting him away from Grumman was a coup. On the other hand, considering what he was up to, Mustang really should have asked.

"Have a seat, sergeant," he said. "I'll see what I can do."

Kain sat down on the edge of a chair. He felt naked without his equipment. Being around superior officers, even someone like Mustang, didn't bother him at all when he was installing or fixing things, but to be here like this was different.

Jean turned back to the commendations section. His eyes fell on the Red Dragon citation. As he read through the description of what had happened in Aerugo, he thought, "What the hell. The kid's a friggin' hero. A real one. Not a phony, like Mustang." But he was sure he hadn't seen the ribbon.

He looked up at the kid, who was waiting patiently if a bit nervously. Nope, he hadn't missed it. It wasn't there.

"Where's your dragon?" he asked.

Fuery looked up and this time he looked somber, not nervous. "Lt General Grumman gave me permission not to wear it. I don't like answering the questions."

"I don't like to either," said Havoc. "But that's because I got mine in Ishval."

For the first time, Fuery showed some hope on his face. "The Lt Colonel gave you permission too? So he'd probably let me keep on not wearing it? If I have to transfer, I mean?"

Actually, it had never even occured to Jean to ask permission _not _to wear a ribbon, though he realized that technically it was against the regs. But he was pretty sure Mustang knew he had it and wasn't wearing it, so that was pretty much the same thing as having permission.

"No problem," answered Jean. "That way he has more ribbons than his subordinates." Could be true. Mustang was a show-off.

"Oh." Fuery's face fell.

Well, that was the wrong thing to say.

"So Mustang likes to make himself look good," Jean shrugged. "Lots of officers are like that."

"I just thought ... " The sergeant seemed to resolve himself to something. "Lt Colonel Mustang asked me if I'd ever killed anyone. I said he could read about it in my file and the next thing I know, I'm being transferred here. If he wants me for tech support, well, I guess that would be okay, but if _that _was why ..."

"I'm pretty sure Mustang was more impressed with the 'saved four members of his squad' part than with the killing part," said Jean. "He likes people who take care of their team members. You're here to be the technical guy. He's got me if he needs any killing done."

When he saw Fuery wince, Jean added quickly, "I mean, for combat, not ..."

Seeing the lieutenant get flustered, Fuery smiled.

"He sure didn't pick me for my way with words," Havoc said, grinning, and took a drag on his cigarette.

* * *

Havoc went back to his paperwork and Fuery went back to waiting. They were both like that half an hour later, when Mustang came back.

"That was fast," said Roy, smiling, seeing Fuery in the staff room.

But Havoc shook his head. "Lt Colonel, I have the files you wanted in the other room," he said, and then without waiting for a response, went in to the small private conference room to the right of Mustang's desk.

Roy looked at the sergeant and then at the partially open door the lieutenant had disappeared through. If Havoc thought he could order him around ...

"Just a moment, sergeant," Roy said, with his most charming smile. "I'll be right back. The files beckon."

He went to the conference room, closed the door, and faced Havoc. "This had better be good, Second Lieutenant," he said, in his coldest voice.

Havoc stiffened. He hadn't figured on Mustang being mad at him. Okay, not _that _mad. But still, this had to be said.

"I think so, sir," he said. "I mean, begging your pardon, I think so, sir."

Seeing the lieutenant's awkwardness reminded Roy of his interview. Maybe the man really didn't _mean _to be insubordinate. Maybe this was just clumsiness.

"Okay, go on," Roy said, still stern, but this time keeping the steel out of his voice.

Havoc gulped, but he'd noticed the difference. "That kid out there," he said, nodding his head toward the door. "He doesn't know why you want him here. He had some idea it was for his combat skills."

"Combat skills?" asked Roy, raising his eyebrows. "He's brave, I know that. I saw the Red Dragon, but combat?"

"When the Hero of Ishval reads up on his commendations and then gets him transferred here, _without asking _... The guy really didn't know what to think. He's here to ask you to let him stay with Grumman."

"I see," Roy said, and went to look out the window.

"Lt Colonel, with all due respect, you've got to tell him what you're doing and give him a chance to say no. Unless that stuff you told me was all just bullshit."

Havoc grimaced and closed his eyes for a moment. There he went again.

But Roy had him figured out now. The man was tactless to a fault, but not insubordinate.

He turned from the window to look at Havoc. "What do you think, Second Lieutenant?" he asked. "If I tell him, will he say yes?"

Havoc looked at him. "Yes, sir."

"And if he says no?"

"I don't know, sir," he said, looking miserable. "You'll think of something. But he won't say no."

Havoc had spent time with Fuery in the staff room and now he was more sure of the sergeant than Roy was himself. Roy had expected to let Fuery get to know him better and then when the time was right, either bring him all the way on board, or transfer him out again. He wished Maes were _here_, not miles away in Central.

"He doesn't want to work for me," Roy said, sitting down at the small table and putting his chin in his hand. "Where have I heard that before?"

"We wouldn't want anyone who did, sir," Havoc said, venturing a grin.

Roy gave a wry smile. "You don't wear your dragon either," he said. "Think it would help if I took mine off?"

Jean didn't know what to say to that.

"No, of course not," Roy said wearily. "I'll always be the Hero of Ishval, whatever ribbons I wear."

"Just give him the chance to stay with Grumman, sir," Havoc said. "Even if you think it's too soon to tell him anything else. Worst case, he stays with Grumman and we get him later. He _will _want to come over sooner or later, sir, I'm sure of it. But I think he'll come now. If you ask."

"Very well," said Roy. "But I'll handle this. No matter what I say out there, do NOT contradict or interrupt me."

"No, SIR!" said Havoc, snapping to attention.

* * *

Roy straightened up and put on a stern look before going through the door and taking a seat behind his desk. Havoc followed him and went back to his own table.

"Sergeant Fuery," Roy said. "I believe you wanted to speak with me?"

"Yes, sir," Kain said. He recognized the voice of command, came up to the Lt Colonel's desk and raised his hand in salute, standing at attention.

Roy made him hold the salute longer than necessary before he returned it crisply but with the extremely short hold due someone of much lower rank. "You may be seated, Sergeant."

Kain sat down and waited for permission to speak.

"Go ahead," Roy said. "I'm listening."

"Sir, I understand I'm being transferred to your office," Fuery began.

"Not necessarily," said Roy, coolly. "I neglected to determine your wishes in the matter. I have no interest in subordinates who don't want to work for me."

"Are ... are you asking me if I _want _to transfer, sir?" asked Fuery.

"Unlike my Second Lieutenant, I believe you have an adequate command of the language," said Roy. "What is your decision, Sergeant?"

Kain thought of the Lt Colonel nodding in agreement when he'd mentioned feeling sorry for the Ishvalans. And Havoc explaining that what mattered was that he had protected his squad members. And most of all, he noticed that the Lt Colonel had listened to Havoc and was actually asking him if he wanted to transfer. In all his two and a half years in the military, not a single commanding officer had ever admitted a mistake or asked him what he wanted to do.

"I would be honored to be transferred here, sir," he said.

Roy had steeled himself for the "no" despite what Havoc had said. Could that have been all it took? The sergeant really just wanted to be _asked_?

"Well then," Roy said, covering his surprise by straightening some papers on his desk. "Glad to have you. Maybe you can help Havoc with the paperwork. I'm going out."

"Bastard," muttered Havoc when Mustang had left him, once again, with the forms.

Kain went over to Havoc's table, pulled up a chair, and grabbed a form. "I'll take care of these, sir," he said. "I'll be a lot faster. I don't have to look anything up."

"Gee, thanks," Havoc said. "I haven't been to the range in forever." Forever meaning "not yet today."

Fuery just smiled and started filling in blocks on a form, as Havoc headed out the door.


	4. Falman

**Vato Falman**

Roy was in the records and library room of East HQ doing research. He had one ops man, Havoc, and his technical man, Fuery. He still needed two intel officers and another ops guy. One of the three would also be his aide.

"Warrant Officer Falman, could you look up Sergeant Fuery's time of service in Aerugo?" Roy asked the officer on duty in the room.

"Two years, one month, sir," Falman answered. "First assignment. Anniversary date January 12th. Transferred to East six months ago, February 26th."

Roy noted down the answers. "Could you hand me the file, please?" he asked. He wanted to look at Fuery's commendations.

"Just a minute, sir," Falman said, "I'll go get it."

Roy stared as he watched the Warrant Officer cross the room to a bank of filing cabinets, pull out a file, and bring it back to him. Roy opened the file wordlessly, and there, on the Military History form, were the dates Falman had given him.

"Warrant Officer," he asked. "How did you know Sergeant Fuery's anniversary and transfer dates?" After all, maybe they were friends.

"You asked me for that file last week, sir," Falman answered. Apparently this new Lieutenant Colonel hadn't heard of his reputation yet. Not that it really mattered. No one ever thought of it as anything more than a parlor trick.

"And you memorized everything in the file?" Roy asked.

"I have an eidetic memory," Falman answered. "I can't read something without memorizing it."

"Have you read my file?" Roy asked.

"Lieutenant General Grumman had me pull your file for him before you came here," said Falman. "So yes, I have."

Some people took weeks before they figured out he'd probably had occassion to read their file, which meant that he would remember everything in it. But he wasn't surprised that the Lieutenant Colonel had made the connection right away. He had read his file, after all.

Unlike most people, though, the superior officer didn't seem disconcerted at all. He looked like he was thinking. No, calculating, to be more precise.

"And what did you think of it? My file?" Roy asked.

"It's very odd, sir," Falman answered. "You're a hero of Ishval, but your known friends are at best indifferent to the Civil War. Considering that opposition to government policy impedes promotion, indifference could very well indicate actual opposition."

"Moreover, you passed over all the volunteers for your operations position and selected a man who is specifically on the record as being opposed to the Civil War."

"And what about my sergeant?" Roy asked. "Is he on record as being opposed or 'indifferent' to the Civil War?"

"Not exactly, sir. But he's a monotheist, like the Ishvalans," said Falman. "That could be considered a security risk."

"Could I see your personnel file, Warrant Officer?" Roy asked.

Vato stared at the officer, then went to get his own file, feeling like some very dangerous game was being played here.

Roy took it from him, then sat down at a table to look at it. Falman was in his thirties, and had enlisted when he was 17 years old. A career military man. But after almost twenty years, he had made it only as far as Warrant Officer. He had been up for promotion five years ago, but had been held back. So he hadn't been promoted in over six years. Not since the Ishval rebellion, in fact.

He paged through the file. There had to be something here. Yes, there it was.

"You provided a report on the Ishval rebellion to Central, I see," Roy said. "They don't appear to have liked it very much."

Falman answered stiffly, "I gave them the facts, sir."

"Sometimes people find it easier to forgive an opposing opinion than hard facts, Warrant Officer," said Roy.

"Apparently, sir," said Falman.

Vato had come to terms with this. There would be no more promotions for him. At least not while Bradley was Fuhrer, which he would no doubt continue to be long after Vato had retired. At the rank of Warrant Officer.

"I could use someone with a memory like yours, and a strong grasp of the facts," said Roy. "Especially concerning Ishval. Would you like to work for me?"

Now Falman was sure this was a dangerous game he was getting into. But he had read Mustang's file, after all. And Lieutenant General Grumman's.

He stood up and saluted. "Er, yes sir. It would be an honor."

* * *

Author's Note:

Manga volume 15, p169

"Er, yes sir. It would be an honor."

I made up all the dates concerning Fuery, although I think they could fit the manga. Also, I haven't found any hints about Falman's age, so I made that up tool


	5. Vato Moves In

**Vato Moves In**

Vato had a single cardboard box with him with a few supplies for his table. Before he brought over anything else, he wanted to see what had been claimed in Mustang's staff room and what was still available.

Havoc and Fuery had two of the three tables next to the window, Havoc closest to Mustang's desk and Fuery furthest, with the one in the middle still free. Even so, Vato didn't much care about being by a window. His corner in the Records and Library Room hadn't had one, and when the sun was in the wrong position in the sky, it caused a glare that made it hard to read or write anyway. Mustang still had two more reqs to fill, so he might as well leave the window table for one of them.

One of the two reqs was for an aide. Whoever got that would certainly want the other table close to the Lt Colonel's desk. So that narrowed his choice down to the two remaining tables away from the window. Vato set his cardboard box on the middle one. It was a bit farther from the door and had more wall space for bookshelves and cabinets.

The staff room had obviously been gutted before Mustang had moved in. The previous occupants and the vultures from the surrounding offices had descended and taken everything that wasn't nailed down except for the desks, main tables, and exactly one chair per desk or staff table. There were no book shelves, no filing cabinets, no side tables, not even chairs to go around the conference table.

Vato decided he'd bring over the five shelf bookcase from his section in the library, a two-drawer filing cabinet and two extra chairs: the bookcase and filing cabinet for himself and the chairs to contribute to the rest of the office.

Havoc was sorting through the afternoon mail, although Vato expected that once he had moved in, he'd be taking that job over. They needed to keep Fuery with his equipment, so Vato would inherit the paperwork no one else wanted to do as the lowest ranking person with no specialty. Back to clerking, as he'd done all the way until he'd made Major Sergeant and been put in charge of one of the library archives at Central.

Considering everything this office needed, he might as well get started now.

"Second Lieutenant Havoc, do you know where the Requisition Budget Memo is?" he asked.

Jean was not having a good day. He hadn't been able to break away to the range yet because he was trying to figure out Fuery's equipment requisition forms, Falman's transfer forms, and Mustang's furniture requisition forms. Then the afternoon mail had come in. And now the new guy was asking for something he'd never heard of.

"How should I know?" he snapped back. "Somewhere in here, I guess," and he waved at a cardboard box Mustang had given him, crammed with papers.

Falman came over to the box. It looked like the papers had been dumped there as if it were a wastebasket, except that they hadn't been crumpled up first. At least most of them hadn't been. He brought it over to the table he had just claimed and set it on the floor, then left the room to go back to his former office. If he was going to go through this mess, he might as well file it as he went, so he should at least bring over the two-drawer filing cabinet right away.

Fuery hadn't noticed the exchange between the two at all, but Havoc stopped working and watched as the Warrant Officer left the room without saying a word. He was still watching the door and trying to figure out if he should do anything when Falman came back, wheeling the filing cabinet in on a dolly.

Falman arranged the cabinet to the right of his chair, put a stack of empty file folders into it from his own cardboard box, and dumped a pile of papers about a foot high onto the table. He seemed to know what every single piece of paper was for and where it belonged, because as soon as he touched it, it went into a folder in the cabinet. Sometimes he paused to write on a folder, or to add more empty folders to the cabinet. After about half an hour, he'd made it through the first pile and dumped another foot's worth of papers on his table.

Havoc went back to his forms, but kept glancing at the Warrant Officer and his progress from time to time. Two hours later, Falman appeared to have filed everything from the box.

"Did you find that memo you were looking for?" Havoc asked.

Vato looked over at the Second Lieutenant. "No, sir" he said. "Do you have any other boxes over there?"

When Havoc shook his head, he said, "It's pretty important. It tells us what this Office is authorized to spend. Does the Lt Colonel have it?"

"If he does, it's probably on his desk somewhere," said Havoc.

Falman sighed. Mustang might be a Lt Colonel already, but he had only been on active duty for a couple of years. Hardly any better than Havoc at dealing with the bureaucracy. He went over to the Lt Colonel's desk and started paging through the papers on the top. It didn't take long. The man kept the top of his desk clean.

"Are you sure you should be doing that, Warrant Officer?" asked Havoc. He wouldn't have dared to touch anything on that desk.

Fuery had some experience, though. "Warrant Officer Falman is just doing what the Lt Colonel's aide would be doing. Anything he doesn't want touched should be in the locked drawer." He'd seen his own Warrant Officer play that role before.

Vato opened a couple of the drawers and found only supplies and a cache of snacks and the cigarettes Havoc smoked. Then he got to the large file drawer.

"Oh," he said, realizing why the top of Mustang's desk was so clean. The man was clearly dumping everything in there, unfiled, exactly as he had done with the cardboard box.

He was still standing there looking at the file drawer and trying to psyche himself up for another two hours of filing when he realized the room had gone completely silent. He looked up and saw the Lt Colonel standing on the other side of the desk chair from him.

"Find what you were looking for, Warrant Officer?" Roy asked, with a voice that made Havoc gulp and put a worried look on Fuery's face.

"No, sir," said Vato, completely missing the tone. "Would you like me to go through this now?"

Roy blinked and narrowed his eyes. It wasn't just that Falman wasn't intimidated; he didn't seem to have the least idea that he'd been caught doing anything wrong.

"And what was it you were looking for?" Roy asked, intrigued, with the same cool voice.

"The Requisition Budget Memo for this office," Falman answered, and then finally noticed the atmosphere in the room. "I'm sorry, sir, am I in your way?"

Suddenly, Roy had a flashback to a time he'd been in Lt Gen Grumman's office. He'd seen Grumman's aide in exactly this position, going through a file drawer in Grumman's desk, when he'd walked into the staff room with him.

"Just a moment," Roy said. "Let me sit down. I'll get what you need." He knew exactly where that memo was. He unlocked the one drawer that had a lock, pulled out a single file folder, took out the memo and handed it to Falman. "I want access to that at all times," he said.

"Of course, sir," Vato said. Everyone seemed to be breathing again and some storm had passed, but he wasn't sure what it had been. "Do you have a list of what you want for the office?"

"Over here," said Havoc, waving Mustang's furniture requisitions and Fuery's equipment requisitions.

"You know you can't do those without the control number, category and date from this memo?" said Falman.

"So that's where those were," Jean sighed.


	6. Maes Suggests

**Maes Suggests**

Riza had gone from Ishval straight back home on leave. While there, Major Hughes had looked her up to invite her personally to his wedding, along with half of the military, it seemed. After gushing about the angel that was Gracia for half an hour at least, he turned to the subject of his best man, Roy Mustang.

"He's stuck out in East City," Maes lamented, "under Lt General 'put out to pasture' Grumman. At least he's been given his own office: State Alchemist Recruiting."

"He'll love that," said Riza. "I can't see him chomping at the bit to get more Alchemists into the military. Not after Ishval."

"I agree. Roy's much more likely to scare any prospects away," said Maes. "Which isn't going to help his promotion prospects very much."

"Why should he stay in anyway?" Riza asked. "I've got another three years to go before I've met my active duty requirement, but he's only got one more year."

Maes shook his head. "You really don't know Roy, do you? First of all, he's got another four year obligation on top of the one year because he accepted the promotion to Lt Colonel. But secondly, he's a real soldier, Riza. A protector. Where else would he go?"

"Not the State Military!" said Riza with a vehemence that surprised her as well as Maes. "What does a dog of the military in this country protect besides Fuhrer King Bradley?"

"Who else but a dog of the military would have a chance at replacing him as Fuhrer?" Maes countered.

"Roy?" she asked.

"I was going to nominate myself, but Roy's got a better chance. He's better looking," said Maes, with a smile.

Riza smiled too. She had to agree with him there. For his part, Maes was delighted that he'd gotten a smile out of the severe young woman.

"But Roy was always talking about strengthening the foundation of this country," Riza said. "That's the opposite of aiming for the top."

"Roy's learned to do a lot of things that run counter to his nature," said Maes. "Like a lot of us." Then he broke the somber mood by adding, "Fortunately, this won't be one of them. Roy will love being at the top, the show-off."

This time, Maes had actually gotten Riza to laugh. "Well, he does like being admired," she said, grinning.

"So why don't you go over to East and admire him?" said Maes. "Work off your remaining three years and then the two of you can get married. You won't be as happy as Gracia and me, but then, who could be?"

Riza laughed again, but there was a sadness this time too. Maes had just been fishing - he was always looking out for prospects for Roy - but this time he thought he'd caught something.

"Really!" insisted Maes. "You have to serve somewhere. Why not East HQ?"

Riza shook her head. Major Hughes was misinterpreting things. Marriage was not a possibility. But after all, maybe she should go to East. If Roy really was still trying to do something worthwhile, maybe she could still do something to help.

"Okay," Riza said. "You're on. But I've been assigned to Central. You'll have to help me transfer to East."

"Fantastic!" said Maes. "And I just remembered. You haven't seen the flowers Gracia picked out for the flower girls, have you?"


	7. Hawkeye

**Riza Hawkeye**

Roy had cleared the staff room before she came in for her appointment. There were only the two of them when she walked up to his desk and saluted.

"Riza Hawkeye, sir."

He frowned at her, sitting behind his desk with hands clasped loosely on top of it, and did not invite her to sit down.

"Despite what you went through in Ishval, you still chose this path?" he asked.

"Yes, sir," Riza answered. "I made the decision to wear this uniform of my own free will."

He held her letter with the request for transfer in his left hand, the envelope it had come in still in his right.

"What is your area of expertise?" he asked, looking at one of the pages, as if he didn't already know.

"Guns," she answered. "I like guns. Because they're not like swords and knives. The sense of death doesn't linger on the hands."

Roy's eyes widened and his frown deepened at her words.

"That's just self-deception," he told her. "Are you lying to yourself so that you may continue to soil your hands?"

"Yes, sir," she answered, with the same brutal honesty. "We soldiers should be the only ones with blood on our hands. No one else should have to go through what we did in Ishval. If the world can be expressed through equivalent exchange, as the alchemists claim, then for future generations to be happy, as payment, we must carry corpses on our backs across a river of blood."

As she spoke, Roy clenched his hands together and rested his chin on them. His eyes narrowed, looking not at her, but somewhere else. When she spoke of the river of blood, though, he closed his eyes completely.

She hadn't changed. She was still the same idealistic teenager she had been at her father's grave, when she had asked him, "Can I truly believe that there will be a future in which everyone can live happily?" She still hoped for the happiness of others. But she no longer counted herself among those who could hope for it themselves.

Roy stood up, leaning for a moment on the pages of her letter, spread out on the desk. Then he straightened up and faced her.

"I plan to make you my assistant," he said, standing with his arms behind his back as if he were on the parade grounds, standing at parade rest.

Riza showed some surprise. That would make her second only to him in this office.

"I would like you to watch my back," he continued. "Do you understand? Being entrusted with my back means that you may also shoot me in the back at any time."

The stern look returned to Riza's face, made sterner by the slant of her brows and the grim set of her mouth. Oh, yes. This she understood completely.

"If I ever stray from the correct path, shoot me with your own hands," he went on. "You have that right. Do you accept?"

She looked down for a moment.

Unspoken between them were the words: _If I stray again, as I have already_, and _To whom else should I trust my back, than to the one who trusted me, in vain, with hers?_

He was still the same naive cadet she had trusted at her father's grave. Fallen, yes, fallen more horribly than either of them could have imagined on that day. But still, somehow, hopeful that he could make things better than they were now. Not for himself, perhaps, but for those he would protect. And he wanted to protect everyone.

But in one thing, he had lost all naivete and all idealism. He no longer trusted himself.

"Do you accept?" he had asked her.

She closed her eyes and her answer was like a wedding vow. "I do, sir."

"I will follow you into hell if you ask me," she added, knowing full well that he probably would.

* * *

Author's Note:

This is just my description of pages 170 to 173 of volume 15 of the manga. All the dialog, except for what I have put in italics, are the words of Arakawa Hiromu sensei.


	8. Riza Inprocesses

**Riza Inprocesses**

Vato was in the Records and Library room reading up on the "Hawk's Eye" of Ishval while the Lt Colonel conducted his interview. He had someone keep a lookout to see when she left Mustang's staff room, so he was the first one back after it was over.

Mustang sat behind his desk with his chair turned to face the window.

"Can I get you anything, sir?" Vato asked.

Mustang turned the chair back to face the desk and looked up at Falman, deep in thought.

"Yes, I suppose so," he said slowly. "I'm bringing Second Lieutenant Hawkeye on board. You know what they need over in Admin, don't you?"

"Yes, sir. I'll take care of it right away," Vato answered. He'd had two sets of forms typed up and ready to go: one set for transferring the Second Lieutenant in and another in case the transfer was disapproved.

He wasn't surprised by the decision. So now they had their third Ishval vet of the genocide campaign. Hawkeye was perfect for Mustang's bodyguard position, but she would need some guidance to learn her duties as an aide. He hoped she'd be trainable.

* * *

Riza had reported to the Administration office of East HQ the same morning that she had her interview with Roy, no, Lt Colonel Mustang. Now she was back at Admin, waiting for him to send over the necessary forms.

A tall white-haired Warrant Officer brought in some papers to the clerk behind the desk, who then called her to the counter. Riza answered questions and signed papers, then took another stack of forms on a clipboard back to a chair. Half an hour later, the forms were signed and filed and she had been handed a folder with her job description and a summary of the other members of the office.

It was after 11 when Riza was finished with in-processing, so she decided to go over to the mess hall for an early lunch. She went through the cafeteria line, took her tray to a table by herself, and started to read through the folder.

_Jean Havoc, Second Lieutenant. Operations._

He was a year behind her in the Academy, so Riza outranked him literally and not just through her position in the office, even though they were both second lieutenants. She remembered him as the person who'd come closest to beating her in sharpshooting contests at school, and for having a cigarette in his mouth whenever smoking was allowed.

He was one of the third-year Academy Ishval vets. For some reason, he'd been put on clean-up instead of sniper duty and they'd put him in one of the districts that had needed a lot of clean-up. Neither the Flame Alchemist nor the Red Lotus Alchemist left much in their wake, but none of the other State Alchemists were quite so thorough.

Clean-up was probably the most nauseating of the jobs given the soldiers to do. In constant danger of attack from survivors, they were also supposed to kill anyone left alive, armed or not, of any age. And some of the survivors who attacked them were children.

Riza remembered shooting children herself, especially towards the end, scrawny starving things who had somehow managed to get hold of a gun or a knife. She'd almost lost one of the soldiers under her protection by not taking one of them seriously. As it was, the man had lost a leg and nearly bled to death.

_Kain Fuery, Sergeant. Communications Technology._

Two and a half years in the military and already promoted twice. Privates came up for promotion to Private First Class at the two year point, but the extra promotion to sergeant was because of what he'd done in Aerugo. That was one soldier who had no reason to be ashamed of his Red Dragon, Riza thought to herself, smiling.

_Vato Falman, Warrant Officer. Administration._

If Fuery was too young to be a sergeant already, Falman was too old to be a warrant officer still. He was the only one who had never been in combat, never come under fire. Always assigned to clerking, bookkeeping and archive positions, his assignment in this office looked like one more demotion.

The high point of his career had been managing one of the library archives at Central. Then, he'd been transferred to East and put in charge of the Records and Library Room, considerably smaller than even the smallest archive at Central. And now, he wasn't even in charge of that.

Riza wondered why the Lt Colonel had brought him over. And she wondered how Falman would react to taking orders from someone over ten years his junior.

* * *

Jean was on the shooting range while Mustang met with Hawkeye.

She'd been one year ahead of him at the Academy, although they were almost the same age. She was young for her class and he was old for his. She'd already been a legend then. He'd gone up against her in a few contests and lost of course. No one beat Hawkeye at sharpshooting. You just aimed to come in as high a second place as you could manage.

They'd both spent a whole year at Ishval while they were still in school - his third and her fourth. She'd graduated with the other fourth-years in Ishval itself and stayed there, while he'd been sent back to finish his fourth at the Academy when things began to wind down. She'd been a legend in Ishval too. He'd never served in the same area as she had, but there was a superstition that if you were under the Hawk's Eye, you couldn't die.

It was only a little after 11 when he finished up, but he didn't want to risk walking in on Mustang's interview with Hawkeye. He washed up, put his jacket back on and headed over to the mess hall.

Jean came in alone, which was not his preference, and looked around for a familiar face. There were few enough people in this early and the room wasn't that big anyway, so he had no problem seeing her. The Hawk's Eye.

Even so, Jean hesitated a moment before going over. He felt a little unclean. It didn't seem fair that there should be an Ishval vet of '08 who hadn't shed innocent blood on their team. And he was jealous that as a sniper, she would only have killed those who had been attacking, who were real enemies.

Well, that was stupid. If they could get her, she'd be great to have. And besides, he didn't even know what Mustang's decision had been yet.

"Hey, Hawkeye," he said with a grin, and walked over to her table.

* * *

Kain was spending the interview time fixing a radio for a friend in another office. He finished up and passed by the Records and Library Room. When he saw that Falman wasn't there anymore, he knew he could go back to the staff room.

When he got there, it was strangely silent. Falman, of course, never made much noise and Havoc was still out. Then he placed it. It was Mustang. It was not like him to be so quiet unless he was reading. And he wasn't. He was just sitting in his chair, looking out the window. Did that mean the interview had gone badly?

Falman seemed unaffected. He was reading a document and writing on a piece of paper. Kain went over to him and asked, in his softest voice, "What's the news?"

The room was so quiet he might as well have spoken normally. Roy looked up and saw the concerned look on Fuery's face. Falman was oblivious, but not the sergeant. He had to shake himself out of this.

"I'm sorry, sergeant, you've caught me wool-gathering," he said, pleasantly. "We've got another member of the team. Second Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye. I'm sure you'll all like her very much."

The change in the Lt Colonel's demeanor reassured Kain. Why shouldn't he get preoccupied from time to time? "Where is she now, sir?" he asked. "It's getting close to lunch time. I wonder if she's gone over to the mess hall."

Roy was startled. Of course it was. But the last thing he wanted right now was to have lunch with her. "You're probably right. Why don't you and Falman go over and introduce yourselves? I still have a few things I need to do here."

Vato looked up. It was only 11:20 am and he had planned to get through this document review before lunch. Which he always went over to get at 11:50 am.

"Come on, Falman," said Kain, practically dragging the man out of the room. "Bring your stuff with you."

Vato let himself be pulled. He'd learned to trust Fuery's instincts.

"It's okay," Kain said when they were in the hall. "Just finish your review in the library and come over to lunch when you usually do. The Lt Colonel just wants to be alone. I'll meet up with Second Lieutenant Hawkeye."

Vato sighed in relief. He knew he was more rigid than a lot of people and certainly more so than his new team members, but he wasn't normally quite so set in his ways. It was just that he'd had a lot of changes to deal with recently. And he really didn't want to meet the new aide until after his usual lunch, at the usual time.


	9. Lunch

**Lunch**

"Hey, Hawkeye!"

It took a moment for Riza to place the second lieutenant approaching her table, even though she'd just been reading about him. She was recognized by many more people than she knew herself.

"Havoc," she greeted him. "You almost beat me during the Founding Day shoot-off in '07."

"Hah!" he said, putting his tray on the table and sitting down. "I wish. Though I guess since it was you, you could call coming in only 15 points behind 'almost beating' you."

He took a bite of his sandwich, not bothering to move his food off the tray. Jean was pleased. She'd actually remembered him.

"I can't believe they put you on clean-up," Hawkeye said. "We could have used more snipers."

Jean suddenly had trouble swallowing, remembering. "Yeah, well," he said, "I wasn't as good as you."

"You were better than the other guys they gave us," she said.

"Really?" he asked. He'd wondered about that. He'd really expected to be a sniper and thought he just hadn't measured up.

She nodded. Jean actually smiled then, instead of his usual grin.

"So do you have your range schedule yet?" he asked. It would be fun to practice next to the Hawk's Eye.

"I don't even know where I'm sleeping tonight. It's probably in here somewhere," she said, holding up a thickly stuffed manila envelope. "I went straight to my interview before I had a chance to look."

"You're not married, right?" Havoc asked. There was no ring on her left hand, but he thought he'd make sure. When she shook her head, he said, "You'll be in the BOQ then, east wing. That's where they put the women."

"A whole wing?" Hawkeye asked. "That'll be a change."

"You had a whole floor at the Academy," Jean reminded her, then went silent, realizing that unlike him, she'd come straight from Ishval, not from the Academy. There had been no special accomodations for women there. When they had pup tents, there was some level of privacy, but a lot of the soldiers had just slept in sleeping bags out in the open.

Riza started digging through the manila folder. "Here it is," she said, finding the range schedule. "When do _you _go?"

Jean was starting to like her. It looked like she was interested in shooting with him. "Well, before I transferred to this office, I was a range assistant. They still let me show up pretty much whenever I want to. I used to go first thing, 0830, but I've been having trouble keeping a regular schedule since I transferred."

Speaking of transfers, he realized he hadn't actually asked about hers yet.

"So do you know if you'll be in our office? Did Mustang decide yet?"

There was something strange about the look on her face when he asked that. Solemn.

The look passed and she answered. "Yes, he did. I'll be his aide."

Havoc nodded. "Falman's been handling that. I was the first one the Lt Colonel brought in, so I did it for a while, but I did a really lousy job. It's nothing but paperwork. I don't see why anyone even wants to do that shit."

Oh. Maybe he shouldn't have said that. But Hawkeye just smiled.

"It's not just paperwork, Lieutenant," Riza said. "I'm second in command." They were so close in rank. She hoped they'd be friends, but if it came down to it, it was more important that he respect her position.

"And welcome to it, sir," Jean said, nodding. He understood perfectly and had no intention of questioning her authority.

* * *

Kain looked around when he got to the mess hall. The new aide would be on the officer's side, of course. Enlisted men could eat there if they were invited by an officer, so he'd eaten over there quite a lot since he'd transferred, between going over with Havoc, who hated eating alone, and Falman, who didn't seem to mind his company. But he wasn't quite sure how he was going to find Second Lieutenant Hawkeye and get her attention, if she was even there.

As it turned out, it wasn't necessary. She was already with Havoc, and Havoc saw him right away.

"There's another one of us," he told her, and waved to catch Fuery's attention.

Kain waved back, smiling, and said something to the sergeant at the entrance to the Officer's Mess, pointing in their direction. He went over to the cafeteria line and quickly filled his tray. It was still early enough that there were only a few other people in the line with him.

"That must be Sergeant Fuery, then," Hawkeye said, recognizing the rank from across the room.

"The one and only," said Jean proudly, as Fuery approached the table. "Anything he can take apart, he can put back together again. And fix. He's even better than an Alchemist that way. Nervous with a gun, though."

"Pleased to meet you, sir," Fuery said, nodding politely at Hawkeye as he sat down. He moved the food off his tray and Havoc grabbed the empty tray and stuck it under his own as if it were a well-established routine. "Second Lieutenant Havoc is helping me with that, though," he said. "The other range assistants just try not to catch my eye and hope I'll go away."

"That means they aren't doing their job," said Jean, frowning. He didn't approve of people who didn't do their job. Especially an important one, like making sure every single soldier could handle a gun well. That was a matter of life and death.

"Glad to meet you," Riza said, smiling at him. "You can't be that bad. I read about Aerugo." Then she noticed the missing ribbon. "Where's your dragon, Sergeant?" she asked, surprised.

The smile left Kain's face.

"Same place as yours and mine, I guess, sir," Jean said easily, trying to diffuse the tension.

"That's different," said Riza, not understanding. "You should be proud, Sergeant. You saved a lot of people."

"Not as many as you, sir," Fuery answered stiffly.

Riza froze.

"He's right, sir," Havoc pressed, coming to Fuery's aid. "What's the big difference? You both saved your comrades by killing the enemy. And Fuery was just tech squad. Killing's actually part of _your _primary job description, isn't it?"

"Children," Hawkeye said quietly, shaking her head. "With daddy's gun. Not usually, but often enough. And they could still kill."

Jean narrowed his eyes. It hadn't ocurred to him that snipers would end up killing kids, too, but it was obvious. Some of the kids he'd killed had actually been attacking.

This time it was Kain who didn't understand. People were always referring to him as a kid. "I guess a lot of soldiers are just teenagers, like me."

Hawkeye and Havoc looked at each other, a look that Kain was starting to associate with certain Ishval vets.

"No, Sergeant Fuery, I really mean children," Hawkeye said. "Twelve - thirteen years old. Younger, maybe. We didn't exactly have their birth records."

"People are still people, sir, " Fuery said, after a silence to absorb the information. "Even if they're real soldiers. It's still wrong to brag about killing anyone. That's why I don't wear the ribbon."

The sergeant looked at her with solemn eyes and Riza finally understood.

"I have no intention of overruling Lt Colonel Mustang," she said.

* * *

Vato was feeling better. He'd finished the document review and had gotten to the Mess Hall at 1150 on the dot. Fuery would still be here and the new aide might be with him. If so, he'd be on the officer's side. If not, on the enlisted side.

Hawkeye, Havoc and Fuery had all finished eating and were drinking coffee, and in Havoc's case, smoking as well.

"1150," Fuery spoke up abruptly, looking at his watch. "There's Falman, right on time."

Neither he nor Havoc made the slightest move to get the Warrant Officer's attention.

"He's got us," said Havoc. Along with Fuery, he seemed to be playing some game. "Time?"

"Forty-two seconds," Fuery answered.

"He's slow today," said Havoc. "Do you think Second Lieutenant Hawkeye threw him off?"

"Probably," said Fuery. "Plus, he had to check both sides."

"He knows where we are? But I didn't see him look over here at all," said Hawkeye, as she watched the Warrant Officer move through the cafeteria line, which was starting to grow now, although it hadn't yet reached the peak it would in the next few minutes.

"That's the thing," said Havoc. "He doesn't, exactly. He just glances over the whole officer's mess. Breda says he's memorized all the patterns of people at tables for the time he comes to lunch, just like chess masters memorize patterns of chess pieces. That's why he likes to come to lunch at exactly the same time."

"And I'm not part of the usual pattern?" asked Riza, intrigued. "He must have an amazing memory."

"Photographic," said Jean, with the same proud tone he'd used earlier speaking of Fuery. "And you're part of one of his patterns now, sir."

Falman came up to the table and settled into the last remaining spot. He nodded towards Hawkeye. "Pleased to meet you, Second Lieutenant." Then he took the food off his tray and once again Havoc grabbed it smoothly and stuck it under the two trays he already had. His eyes on his food instead of anyone else at the table, Falman said, "I was slow today, wasn't I?"

"Second Lieutenant Havoc thinks it was my presence," said Hawkeye.

"That was part of it, sir," Falman said, looking up. "In addition, I had to check the enlisted side of the mess as well."

"And that's what Sergeant Fuery said," she added, smiling.

Falman nodded. "The two of them together usually arrive at a reasonable approximation of what's going on."

Riza could see now why the Lt Colonel would want someone like Falman. What made no sense now was why everyone else didn't.

Vato saw her puzzled expression and thought it was the usual reaction. "It's a combination of my eidetic memory and pattern recognition, sir," he said.

When it looked like he was getting ready to elaborate, Riza stopped him. "Yes, Warrant Officer, Havoc just explained that. It's quite impressive."

"Then your question is?" Falman asked.

Riza thought for a moment about how to ask without sounding insulting. "I was wondering why you weren't still at Central."

That was exactly the kind of reaction he'd gotten from Lt Colonel Mustang. He'd thought Vato's memory was more than just an amusing parlor trick too.

"I believe it's because they didn't like my report on the Ishval Rebellion," he answered.

"Really?" Hawkeye said. "Then I'd like to read it. Can you get me a copy, Warrant Officer?"

"Yes, sir," Vato said, pleased. Not even Mustang had asked for that.

* * *

Author's Note:

BOQ: Bachelor Officer Quarters.


	10. Beautiful

**Beautiful**

"Yes Maes, I know she's beautiful ... " Mustang sat at his desk, phone to his ear, drumming his fingers impatiently.

Hawkeye and Havoc walked into the staff room at just that moment. She had accepted his invitation to practice with him at 0830, and by the time they had finished, cleaned up, and gotten over there, it was a little after nine.

"No, of course, I couldn't possibly turn down a chance ..." Mustang pursed his lips. "Maes, are you planning on letting me say anyth-" Apparently, Maes wasn't, because Mustang went back to keeping his silence and drumming his fingers.

Jean stole a glance at Hawkeye at the word "beautiful." Objectively speaking, not really. She was pretty, but he wouldn't call her beautiful. Still, "pretty" was all Jean really asked for in a woman. He was a breast man, though. The uniform jacket did a good job of hiding a woman's shape, but as Hawkeye went over to her table, he remembered what she'd looked like back on the range in the black turtleneck after she'd taken the jacket off. Not quite as built as he liked, but she'd do. Definitely.

He sat down at his table and glanced at his desk calendar and to-do list to make sure he hadn't forgotten about anything he needed to do first thing. But mostly, he listened to Mustang's phone call and thought about Hawkeye. She outranked him and was second in command, but Mustang was the officer he reported to, not her. For purposes of the fraternization regs, she was a peer, not a superior. She wasn't off limits.

* * *

Vato waited impatiently for the new aide to show up. He had a schedule and to-do list typed up for her and had planned on doing a file review with her starting at 0900. He'd expected her to get in at 0830 and had actually allowed an entire half hour for her to get settled first.

When she came in with Havoc, he realized he'd miscalculated. _Of course_, he thought. _They're both marksmen. The range._

He couldn't even go to his backup plan because the Lt Colonel was stuck on the phone with Major Hughes again. He imagined the Major's wedding plans were a major cause of inefficiency throughout the military right now and it was just his luck that Lt Colonel Mustang was going to be his best man.

"Second Lieutenant," he said, going over to her table after she'd had a chance to sit down, "it looks like I presumed on your schedule. Is there still a chance we could at least start going through some of the files at 9:30 or 10:00?"

Riza had nothing whatever planned herself. How could she? It was her first day. "Just give me a chance to get my coffee. We can start sooner than that," she said, realizing how important his schedule was to the man.

"I'll get it, sir," said Falman. "With one milk, right?" He remembered from yesterday lunch.

"That's right, Warrant Officer," she said. "That would be very kind of you. I'll be ready to go when you get back."

That was good. They'd only be fifteen minutes past when he'd wanted to get started, then.

As he left the staff room to get the coffee, he thought about Mustang's conversation with Hughes. "Yes Maes, I know she's beautiful." If Vato hadn't known it was Hughes' fiancee he'd been taking about, it would have been easy to think about Second Lieutenant Hawkeye. Which he supposed he was doing right now, come to think of it.

_Do I think she's beautiful?_ he thought. _Attractive, definitely that. And I've at least gotten out of the enlisted ranks. She's not off limits, not according to the regs, anyway. I wonder what her legs look like._

He'd never dated anyone who'd outranked him. Not that he'd ever specifically ruled it out. It was way too soon to think about anything like that, though. He'd just met her yesterday and they hadn't even established a work relationship yet. He filed the thought away for future consideration.

* * *

Kain was just browsing through a tech journal when Havoc and Hawkeye came in, and looked up just as Mustang was saying "she's beautiful" on the phone. It was impossible not to try to apply the words to the new aide. Kain thought she was pretty, and if a guy was in love with her, he'd probably think she was beautiful. But she was too old for him and as an officer, definitely off limits.

Besides, she was kind of scary. Like Havoc had said at lunch yesterday, killing had been part of her _primary _job description in Ishval. He sort of thought it was still pretty important in her current job description. He knew that officially she was Mustang's aide and another ops officer, like Havoc. But Mustang, Havoc and Falman all said she was going to be the Lt Colonel's bodyguard. And she'd even shot children, something he was still trying to wrap his head around.

* * *

Roy finally got off the phone with Hughes. Amidst the gushing about Gracia and the wedding preparations, Maes had also managed to let him know about someone he thought he should check out for his team: a second lieutenant who'd gone to the West City Academy called Breda. He'd also dropped a totally unnecessary hint about Riza's, no Second Lieutenant Hawkeye's, feelings for him.

_That must have been some conversation_, thought Roy. _Of course, Maes always could read people better than anyone else I've ever known._

He looked at her going over Falman's schedule for her while the Warrant Officer got her coffee. Ishval had ruined a lot of things and their relationship was one of them. She didn't hate him, at least. She still, somehow, believed in him. She'd work for him, watch his back, keep him from another disaster like Ishval. But she'd never be his. Not _that _way.


	11. Breda

**Heymans Breda**

Heymans was in trouble and he knew it. The new Lieutenant Colonel was gunning for him. The question was, did he want to get caught?

He was eating at his table in the staff room of Grumman's office to avoid Mustang in the mess hall, and playing chess with himself. Speak of the devil. Mustang came into the room.

"I heard you were here," Roy said. "Mind if I join you for a moment? I brought something." He set down a tray with each of the four dessert options from lunch in the Officer's Mess.

"Oh! Thank you, sir," said Breda, but he didn't invite him to sit down. Mustang did anyway, taking only the cup of coffee from the tray.

"I know you're not interested in joining my team, but I value your opinion," Roy said. "What do you think of the people I've got so far?"

"Depends on what you're trying to do, sir," Breda answered. He finished the first half of his sandwich and started on the second half.

"You know what I'm trying to do. I'm recruiting Alchemists and helping out Lt General Grumman," Roy said, taking a sip of his coffee.

"Recruiting Alchemists?" said Breda. "Falman could make sense there. He doesn't just have a photographic memory - he's great at research in general. Anything you need to find out, if it's ever been written down, he'll find it. Of course, he'd be great for almost anything requiring information gathering."

Heymans finished the second half of his sandwich, and started on the salad.

"Havoc makes no sense, though. You let any of your potential recruits close to him and he'll explain exactly why they shouldn't join. He's a crack shot, though, and a hard worker. You need someone for combat, he'd be great."

"Fuery makes sense, but anyone would want him. Everyone could use a tech genius. I knew Lt General Grumman liked you when he let you take that kid away from him."

Heymans took one of the desserts from the tray. Better start with the ice cream, before it melted any more than it already had.

"Hawkeye's another one that makes no sense, though. At least, since you already have Havoc. Why do you need two combat people to recruit State Alchemists? On the other hand, if you wanted a bodyguard, she'd be the perfect complement to Havoc. Havoc would be your outside man and Hawkeye would be either your outlook or your right-hand man."

"But of course, that all makes it sound more like you're expecting combat than recruiting Alchemists," Breda said, reaching for a second dessert. Custard.

Roy looked at the chess board, which Breda had left untouched since he had entered the room, and changed the subject.

"If you play chess with yourself, you'll always lose," he said.

"No, sir, I can also draw," said Breda. "And whenever I do lose, I will always win as well. I always come out even."

"Don't you ever want to come out ahead?" asked Roy.

"Depends on what you mean by 'ahead', sir. I like staying alive."

"Then isn't the military a rather strange profession to be in?"

"Not really," said Breda. "Amestris is a military dictatorship. If you look at the military as the people who do all the fighting, then yes, it's stupid for someone who doesn't want to fight to go into the military. But if you look at it as the people who make the rules, then the safest place to be is where you can keep an eye on the rulemakers. And maybe become one yourself."

Heymans had gotten to the third dessert: apple pie.

"Besides," he added, "Bradley made it pretty clear in Ishval that just because you're not a soldier doesn't mean you can't be killed like one. A soldier is just a target who gets to carry a gun."

"You weren't in Ishval, though," Roy said. "You were in Pendleton."

"I was top of my class at the Academy. I asked for Pendleton and got it. It was the safest posting out there, except for Central."

"You didn't ask for Central?"

"Pendleton was my second choice. Central was first, Investigations Office. The officer in charge didn't want me."

"Major Hughes?" Roy frowned. He'd checked Breda out with Maes and gotten a thumbs up.

"He's there now, isn't he?" said Breda. "But he was in Ishval when I graduated from the Academy. The guy who turned me down was Brigadier General Raven."

Heymans started on the last dessert from the tray: a cookie bar.

"Lieutenant Colonel, I'm interested in your proposition. But I still need to know two things. First, what are you really planning to do with your team? And second, why me? Yes, I know you want a strategist, that's clearly the position still missing, and that's what I'm best at, but why me?"

"We're going to get rid of Bradley," said Roy. "By peaceful means, hopefully. I plan to replace him as Fuhrer."

That was practically the only answer that Heymans would have accepted to that question. Nothing else would have fit the pieces Mustang had assembled.

"Why?" asked Breda. He'd finished the desserts, and took a sip of his iced tea.

"Because I don't like what happened in Ishval," Roy answered. "Because I don't like that the only difference between civilians and soldiers is that the soldiers are the targets who get to carry guns."

"So Lt Colonel Mustang becomes Fuhrer and that makes everything all better?"

"No, Lt Colonel Mustang becomes Fuhrer and he and his team make this country a democracy so nothing like Ishval ever happens again."

"You _are _ambitious."

"That's what everyone says."

"So, why me?" asked Heymans.

"You and your squad came under fire at the Cretan border," said Roy. "You disobeyed orders to abandon two of your subordinates and held your position until you were relieved."

"The orders were to shoot them, not abandon them," corrected Heymans. "It was a ridiculous order. I needed the firepower."

"They had Cretan parents. They were security risks."

"That was the reasoning," Heymans said. "But I thought I got that incident purged from the records. It would be a courts-martial offense." Then he understood. "Falman saw it?"

Roy nodded.

Heymans stood up and gathered the empty dishes from his lunch and the desserts on the tray.

"Okay," Heymans said. "I'm with you, sir. But you have to make this good with Grumman. I'm going to be the second one you've taken from him."

Mustang looked a little sick at the prospect.

Heymans chuckled as he left the room with the tray.

* * *

Author's Note:

Manga volume 15, p169

"Oh! Thank you, sir."


	12. Gun Shy

**Gun Shy**

Jean had scheduled Fuery for a full hour on the range at 10:00 am. Not only was it the slowest time for practice, since it was prime time for actually getting work done, but he'd also checked with the range officer's schedule and picked a day when there would be no one else there at all.

He considered the sergeant's nervousness a real problem. Jean was sure Mustang expected his team to come under hostile fire at some point and he didn't want any of them, Fuery included, getting killed because the sergeant had gone gun shy.

They had both taken off their uniform jackets. Jean was wearing his usual black t-shirt. Fuery's was white. The first thing Jean wanted to figure out was whether Fuery was distracted by gunfire around him.

"OK, you're the only one shooting. Go ahead," he said. The result was impressive. Fuery was actually hitting the targets _next _to his now.

Maybe it was just getting-started jitters.

"Now let's both shoot," Jean said. Fuery was back to his usual awful aim on his own target. Without saying anything, Jean decreased his shooting. The less he shot, the wider Fuery's own shots went. Damned if the kid didn't get _more _nervous when it was quiet. The sound of other gunfire actually steadied him some.

"So you do better with other people shooting," Jean stated. Fuery shrugged apologetically. "All right, now I'm going to change the target."

Jean had an idea that part of the problem was the human outline on the target. Maybe the kid would do better with a simple bulls-eye. He changed his own target too and the target on the other side of Fuery as well. Let's get the kid thinking of this as a contest, not shooting people.

"Okay," he said. "As close to the center as you can." They both started shooting. The bulls-eye Jean had chosen had only three concentric circles and the center circle was pretty big. It was ridiculously easy. He thought he saw some improvement in Fuery's shooting - the kid's usual random pattern was now staying within the overall circle of the bulls-eye. But he was still shaking when he pulled the trigger.

A couple of rounds later, Fuery was no better and starting to get worse.

"Let's take a break," he said. "Smoke 'em if you got 'em." He lit up a cigarette and offered one to Fuery to be polite. To his surprise, Fuery took it, and to his further surprise, didn't cough (much) when Jean lit it for him.

"I didn't want to talk about this, but I think we have to," said Jean. "Your range stats were just fine before that incident in Aerugo. Nothing to write home about, but still acceptable. It happens sometimes that guys get gun shy after their first real combat."

"You mean my shooting was okay until I actually shot someone?" Kain said. "That's right. But what do I do about it? I know why you switched the targets, but this isn't some contest. You're afraid I won't be able to kill if I have to."

"You got it," Jean said and then said nothing else, looking off across the range to the empty field beyond.

After a few moments, Kain realized Havoc wasn't going to say anything else. He was managing not to choke on his cigarette, but it wasn't calming him at all.

"Second Lieutenant Havoc?" he asked.

_Here it comes_. "Yeah?" said Jean, still looking off into the distance.

"What about you? I mean, after you ... killed ... someone the first time?"

"I grew up using guns for all kinds of stuff - contests, hunting. I like 'em. They're not just for killing, to me. You never touched a gun before you joined up, did you?"

Kain shook his head. "But there's nothing I can do about that now."

"Nope," said Jean, still looking off into the distance.

"Second Lieutenant Havoc?" Kain asked again.

"Yeah?" Still looking off into the distance.

"Did it bother you? The first time you killed someone?"

Jean finally turned to look at Fuery. "Nope. He was shooting at me."

"They were shooting at me, too," Kain said. "So why do I have a problem?"

"I guess it's because you're Kain Fuery and not Jean Havoc."

"Well, that's a big help," Kain muttered and Jean chuckled.

"You still feel bad about the people you killed in Aerugo?" asked Jean.

"No," said Kain. "I mean, I'm sorry I had to kill them, but I don't feel guilty. I don't think what I did was wrong."

Jean looked at him in amazement. Guilt he understood, but he didn't get this. "So what's the problem?" he asked.

"They were people," Kain answered.

"Well, yeah," said Jean. "People trying to kill you!"

"Because if they didn't, I'd kill _them_. Like I _did_."

Jean shook his head. "That's sort of the definition of combat. Why'd you sign up in the first place?"

"To support Mom."

This he could understand. Jean nodded. "Pay's okay and you had no problem with killing bad guys in theory. But it was different when you actually had to."

"You think I'm going to have to again, don't you?" said Kain. It was more a statement than a question.

"Every soldier has to be prepared for that - "

"No," interrupted Kain. "I'm not talking about that. I'm talking about what Lt Colonel Mustang is planning."

Jean almost started to give him the standard answer about recruiting alchemists, but he could tell from Fuery's face that it would be useless.

"I think there's a good probability. He'll avoid it if he can, and especially try to keep from putting you or Falman in that position, but he might not be able to."

"When is someone going to tell me about it? I might be less nervous if I knew - "

"That's up to him. But I can tell you right now that it won't be any different from Aerugo. If it comes to killing, the targets will actually be attacking you."

"What if they're children?"

"They won't be. The Lt Colonel won't put us in that position."

Kain opened his mouth to object but he could tell by the set of Havoc's mouth and his whole posture that as far as Havoc was concerned, this was _not _open to doubt.

Kain reloaded his gun and took up his stance, aiming at the target. He shook as he took his first few shots, just as he always did. But then he held his gun pointed in neutral position and took a calming breath. He aimed the gun again and his lips moved as if he were saying something to himself. Then he shot again and this time his arms and hands were steady. He'd never make a marksman, but all of the bullets at least made it into the big center circle of the bullseye.

"That's it!" said Jean. "What were you saying?"

"The prayer for the dead," Kain answered.


	13. Heymans Arrives

**Heymans Arrives**

"Second Lieutenant Breda reporting, sir," Heymans said, snapping to attention and raising his hand in a salute at Mustang's desk. His uniform was clean, pressed, and even buttoned up all the way. Heymans wasn't big on military protocol, but the people in his new office seemed to be. And no one could say he didn't know how to do this when necessary. It was 0830, sharp.

Roy stayed seated but gave the correct crisp return. "Welcome aboard, Second Lieutenant. Here's your orientation packet." He was faintly amused. Not even Falman had reported this formally. Of course, Roy hadn't actually been in the office to report to when Falman had moved in, so maybe that didn't count.

Hawkeye and Falman had taken to each other immediately. He was quickly making her into the scourge of the office, showing her all sorts of nefarious things like schedules, meetings and an esoteric collection of forms. It was this alliance that had led to the orientation schedule and packet.

* * *

Heymans sat down at the table he had claimed, the remaining window table between Havoc and Fuery, and looked at his packet. He had a twenty minute meeting with each of his office mates in the Lt Colonel's private meeting room, starting at 9 am, with ten minutes between meetings. It was a fairly standard orientation schedule, with a couple of differences. Usually, the meetings were longer - at least an hour - and usually not everyone in the office was on the list.

Then there was a page with office protocols. Everyone was expected to be in the office by 9 am unless they'd checked in with Falman first. The weekly staff meeting was at 10 am on Friday. And they were all supposed to spend half an hour on the range every week. That was more than the usual once a month and Heymans had the feeling it would not be easily excused, as was typical elsewhere.

Next was a list of supplies he could requisition. All the usual things were there, which was impressive in itself. Every other office he'd known had problems with some staple or another - one place you couldn't get pencils, another seemed to consider paper clips exotic equipment. And considering the range requirement, it wasn't surprising to see ammo and gun maintenance supplies easily obtainable, although required duties hadn't always come with the requisite supplies in other offices.

What truly impressed him, though, were the things he'd never seen on any standard sheet before. Apparently, a typewriter was available just for the asking, and there was a generous allowance for the copy room. But it wasn't until he reached the end of the list that he broke into a wide grin. It was totally unnecessary - he already had two or three, including one he kept at the office - but there, on the standard supply list, was a chess set.

* * *

Falman was first. Heymans was nervous. Not only was the Warrant Officer the most experienced soldier in the office, but he also clearly had an inside line to supplies - a man you wanted to stay on the right side of. He watched the clock, then just before 9 entered the conference room, closed the door, and sat down across from Falman, who had two cups in front of him.

"You drink Wellesley tea, unsweetened, I believe, sir," Falman said, pushing the second cup towards Breda.

"Yes, sir," said Heymans, then wanted to kick himself. Sir-ing someone of lower rank. Sheesh!

Vato couldn't hide a tiny, fleeting smile. It was a greenhorn's mistake, but in Breda's case just went to show that he hadn't gotten into the habits any other soldier with two years of active duty would have. But the mistake in that direction meant he was trying. For once.

Breda rubbed Vato the wrong way. Even when he wore the uniform correctly, he looked sloppy, and he rarely wore the uniform correctly. He never saluted if there was the least possibility it might not be required and he used 'sir' as rarely as possible, to the point of rudeness if not outright insubordination.

"I see you've already marked the supplies you want, sir," said Falman.

"Yes, Warrant Officer," Breda said. "You've got quite a set-up. Was the chess set your idea?"

"No, it was Lt Colonel Mustang's,"he answered. "I don't quite know why he had me add that. I know you already have your own set."

"It's his way of telling me you can get me anything I need."

"Of course I can, sir," said Falman, with a touch of pride.

"Anything?" Heymans said to himself. "I'll think about that. But in the meantime, I understand you have a report on Ishval available?"

"Yes sir," said Vato. That report seemed to have become surprisingly popular in this office. "Shall I get it for you?"

"Yes, please," said Breda. "And by the way, you play chess too, don't you?"

"Sometimes," said Falman. "Lt Colonel Mustang plays, and so far, I've always beaten him." Which had made him nervous at first, until he had realized that Mustang didn't seem to mind losing at chess at all.

"Maybe we could play," said Heymans. "It'd be interesting to see how you do against me."

"Indeed, sir," said Falman.

With the possible exception of Lt Colonel Mustang, and not counting Fuery's specialized technical expertise, Breda was the smartest person in the office. And he, like Fuery, had also handled himself well in combat. So now that the complement of the office was complete, Vato was officially not just the oldest and the one with the longest time of service, but also the only one who had never seen combat or killed anyone.

* * *

Jean walked into the room at 0930. He'd never been through an orientation himself, let alone conducted one. Unless you counted his standard spiel for range newbies.

Breda was a slob, which wasn't something Jean appreciated, but wasn't anything that bothered him much either. He was a decent shot, cool under fire, and not as out of shape as he looked. Most of that mass was muscle. He was another brain in an office that was full of them. He had combat experience, had killed when necessary to support his comrades, and had disobeyed orders that were wrong.

So now Jean was officially the stupidest one in the group. And he wasn't better than any of the others at a single damn thing.

"So, Breda," he said. "I guess you've seen the range requirements?"

"Yes sir," Heymans answered. There, that was right. "It looks like you guys take it seriously."

"We do," said Havoc. "Your stats are good, but they won't stay that way without practice. Second Lieutenant Hawkeye and I wear our weapons at all times when we're on duty. The Lt Colonel always has his on him too, but in his case, they're not guns."

"The gloves?"

"Yes," Havoc confirmed. "Everyone else in the office keeps a weapon locked in the office, over there, readily available. Here's your key." He pointed out the gun cabinet and handed the key to Breda.

"I check the weapons from time to time and they better pass my check."

"What about martial arts practice?" asked Breda.

Havoc finally cracked a smile. "Yeah, I've suggested it to the Lt Colonel. He and 2nd Lieutenant Hawkeye and I all go once a week for that too, but we haven't been sure whether we should insist on it for the non-combat staff."

* * *

Kain sat down with a piece of paper in front of him, but he wasn't sure what he was going to be able to say for twenty minutes. When Breda came in the door at 1000, he had to fight the impulse to stand.

"He outranks you, but you're still in charge of the meeting," Falman had said, trying to calm his nerves. "You're just explaining what you can do for him."

Breda didn't look like a soldier even when he was in uniform. He didn't act much like one either. He seemed like Kain, in the military to do his work, not there to do military work. Except Kain didn't exactly understand what Breda's work was supposed to be. The others called him a strategist.

"Um, I'm Kain Fuery and I'm a sergeant and I'm the Communications Technologist." He had only three items and that was the first one. Nineteen minutes and 42 seconds to go.

"Pleased to meet you, sergeant," said Breda.

"So, um, pretty much anything with wires, I can fix it." That was the second item. Nineteen minutes and 28 seconds to go.

"And um, I think it's a good idea if you know how to plug into the radio console and use the headsets. If you don't mind, I mean, sir."

Last item, nineteen minutes to go.

"Yes, that makes sense, sergeant," Breda agreed.

Fuery smiled. "So I guess, do you want me to show you now?"

Breda had meant to wait until Fuery opened the floor to questions, but it didn't look like he was going to. "You know, before we do that, I was wondering if you could help me out with something."

All traces of nervousness disappeared. "Sure, 2nd Lieutenant. What do you need?"

"Can you tell if a phone has a tap on it?"

Half an hour later, Fuery and Breda were still talking about various ways to tap phone lines and bug offices and Fuery was drawing diagrams. Neither one noticed when Hawkeye opened the door to check on them, since her time with Breda was scheduled for 1030 and the sergeant hadn't come out yet.

Back in the staff room, she said, "Warrant Officer, it looks like they're running out of paper for their wiring diagrams in there. And we'll need to shuffle the schedule a bit."

"Yes sir," said Falman. He thought for a moment, then grabbed some double sized engineering paper, a straight edge and a ruler.

When Falman tapped lightly on the door and walked in, Fuery jumped up, aghast. "We're ten minutes past ... Second Lieutenant Hawkeye!"

"She asked me to reschedule," Falman said, giving Fuery a look that immediately calmed him down. "She'll see you at 1130, sir," he said, turning to Breda. Then, he set the supplies on the table. "Will this help?"

* * *

Breda should have outranked Riza. The deal he'd cut to get the courts-martial worthy event expunged from his record had reset his promotion schedule. Despite over two years of active duty, his time of service for purposes of promotion was only a few months. Technically, even Havoc outranked him.

Still, that might not have mattered so much if he weren't also known for being lax about military protocol. Riza doubted he was particularly impressed with her sharpshooting and she was awful at chess. And her grades at the Academy, while better than Havoc's, were still just high average. She wondered if he'd think she was stupid. Compared to him, maybe she was.

When she entered the conference room, Breda stood. "Sir, I'd like to apologize for - "

Hawkeye just shook her head and motioned for him to sit. "What were you talking about?"

"Bugs, wiretaps and countermeasures," he said.

"Ah," she said. "It looked like the two of you were designing something."

"I wasn't," said Breda, "although I think Sergeant Fuery may have been starting to. I can just barely follow along."

"Then you're way ahead of the rest of us," Hawkeye said, smiling. "All I've really got planned for now is to field any questions you may have, now that you've met everyone."

"Fuery's up to date on security technology. Falman has a full report on Central's involvement in the whole Ishval fiasco. Havoc's making sure we're all combat ready. So where are we all going? Does the Lt Colonel have a plan?"

"A goal," she said. "But not exactly a plan. I think that's what you're here to help with."

Breda nodded.

"2nd Lieutenant Breda," she said. "Havoc and I know what Lt Colonel Mustang's goal is and I know he told you, too. But he hasn't told Valman or Fuery."

"What?" said Breda, amazed. "They sure act like they know something's going on."

"You think so?" she asked. "The Lt Colonel's been worried about security. He hasn't figured out a way to be more - straightforward - with them."

"Like I said, sir," said Breda, "you might be surprised what the two of them suspect already. Fuery thinks he can secure the small conference room by this Friday. If he does, do you think there might be a chance we could lay everything on the table at the staff meeting then?"

"I think that would be a very good idea," Hawkeye said. "I'll talk to the Lt Colonel about it. Anything else?"

"I've looked through the whole orientation packet," he said. "There doesn't seem to be anything there about recruiting alchemists."


	14. Falman Jokes

**Falman Jokes**

"Second Lieutenant, are you finished with my Ishval report?" Falman asked.

"Yes," Riza answered, grimly. It was a good thing she'd stayed late to read it a few days ago after everyone else had gone home. She'd thrown it down on the table a couple of times, on the floor once, and cursed like a soldier several times.

Vato saw her expression and had to agree with Fuery. She could look pretty scary sometimes. "Er, could I have it back, sir?" he asked. "Second Lieutenant Breda wants to look at it."

"Oh," she said. "I gave it to Havoc to read. I'm afraid you'll have to check with him, Warrant Officer."

Vato went over to where Havoc was checking the guns in the cabinet. "Second Lieutenant Havoc, Second Lieutenant Hawkeye said you might still have my report?" he said. Havoc looked up and his usual grin was humorless. "That's a lot of Second Lieutenants," he said. "Why don't you just call me Havoc around here?"

"Yes sir," said Vato, who had been thinking the same thing. He started to smile, but Havoc's still humorless grin stopped him.

"Just a sec, I'll get it for you," Havoc said. He put the gun he'd been inspecting back together, replaced it carefully in the cabinet and locked the cabinet.

Hawkeye had warned him he wouldn't like it and that he shouldn't read it around other people, so Jean had taken it outside to read. Before he'd brought it back to the office, he'd gotten most of the dirt off of it, except one place where his boot print was still visible. He dug the report out of a stack of papers and handed it to Falman with one word, "Bastards."

Vato hadn't expected the Ishval vets to like the report, for reasons completely different than Central had had, but he hadn't expected such a _physical _reaction to the report itself. He brought it over to Breda, who'd been watching Hawkeye's and Havoc's reactions.

"Has Mus-, the Lt Colonel seen this too?" Breda asked, trying to straighten out one of the crinkles on the first page.

"I haven't given it to him," said Falman. "You might want to check for scorch marks."

Fuery was the first to react, giggling. Then Havoc's grin changed to its usual good humor and he chuckled. Hawkeye was last, because she wasn't sure how the dignified Warrant Officer would take it. But Fuery was the last person she could imagine laughing at anyone and he seemed closer to the Warrant Officer than the rest of them. She added her snicker to the rest.

The result was an escalation of hilarity, until they were all laughing unabashedly out loud. Which was the state Roy found them in when he entered the office after the meeting with Grumman that Hawkeye and Falman had roped him into. The two of them would probably also have a stack of forms for him to fill out or sign or stamp as well.

"Want to let me in on the joke?" he asked as he made it to his desk. Yes, there was the stack of forms, each with a paper clipped note telling him what to do with it.

Havoc and Fuery went dead silent. Mustang did not looked pleased. Falman, who had been rather pleased with himself, followed suit when he saw Fuery's face. Breda watched everyone, wondering what Mustang's reaction would be.

But Hawkeye wiped her eyes, which had teared up from the laughter, and said simply, "We were laughing at you, sir. Falman made a joke."

Falman went stiff and for a moment hated Hawkeye. He had thought they were working well together and now this betrayal?

"Really?" Roy said. "Congratulations. What - ?"

By that time, though, Riza had seen Falman's horrified expression. She gave the Lt Colonel an almost imperceptible shake of the head and mouthed "later."

Roy picked up on it. "Okay, people," he said, "I'm not going to roast you. Back to work. If I have to go through this crap, so do you." He made a face as he reached for the first form on the stack. _Falman made a joke! That must have been something._ He chuckled to himself.

Everyone else picked up on the Lt Colonel's improved mood, Falman last of all, as usual. Everyone else also noticed that Hawkeye had been the only one who had not been afraid of the Lt Colonel's reaction. And Breda was the only one who wondered just how close the Hero of Ishval and the Hawk's Eye actually were.


	15. Staff Meeting

**Staff Meeting**

Fuery could have secured the small conference room for the staff meeting that Friday, but Roy postponed Breda's top agenda item. It was useful anyway. They had discussed recruiting alchemists for, as far as Breda could determine, the first time since the office had been formed.

Hawkeye had finally gotten Mustang to read the report on Ishval, which had led to a flurry of calls to Hughes in Central and a couple of meetings with Grumman, as he confirmed what he could. When Mustang finally handed the report back to Falman, he said, "No scorch marks." But it looked like it may have taken an effort.

"Sergeant, are we secure here?" Mustang asked when they were all assembled. It was a tight fit. There was only room for four chairs around the table. He was seated, and so were Breda, Falman and Fuery. Hawkeye stood behind him to his right and Havoc stood across the room from her.

"Yes sir," Fuery answered. They were finally going to tell him what was going on, although he had an idea.

"The stated purpose of this Office is to recruit Alchemists to make up for the short-fall after the Ishvalan Civil War," the Lt Colonel began. "We've been a little remiss in that purpose, which we discussed last week, thanks to our new strategist, Second Lieutenant Breda. But I've got plans for this Office that go beyond that stated purpose. Most of you know them. Two of you don't."

"We're going to assassinate Bradley, aren't we, sir?" said Falman, who knew he was one of the two.

Breda caught Hawkeye's eye. _Oh, yes, they'd suspected something all right._

Roy paused for a moment and glanced over at Fuery. But the sergeant's face, which showed everything, betrayed not the slightest shock or surprise.

"Well," Roy said, "actually I'd rather it not come to that. But yes, I'm hoping we can remove Bradley as Fuhrer."

"Why not, sir?" said Fuery. "It wasn't just Order 3066. He turned down every overture for peace the Ishvalans sent. Logue Lowe was their last attempt, not their first."

"I know that!" Roy said, slamming his hands on the table and standing. His voice had gone beyond cool, beyond cold steel. It was white hot. And only one person in the room had ever seen the look that was in his eyes right now. In Ishval. She reached her right hand behind her back, where he knew her gun was, and looked him in the eye.

Havoc noticed her gesture and his own eyes went wide. _Who were these people?_

Roy took a deep breath and sat down. "Sergeant, we want a peaceful transition, with a minimum of bloodshed. It's not yet illegal for a man to aim for the top position in this country and Bradley is in his sixties, even if he doesn't look it."

"And you're known to be an ambitious man," said Breda. "Lt Colonel, I think you can get pretty close that way. But I do think you have to be prepared to stage a coup when it comes to the final step."

"Which means killing honest soldiers just doing their duty," Roy said.

"Maybe," said Havoc. "Just more deaths to lay at that bastard's feet. But if there aren't too many, you can stop a man without actually killing him. And the better your combat skills, the more likely you can do it."

"That's right," said Hawkeye. "I don't have to aim for the head."

"Good idea. But it's way too soon to think about how we can limit the opposition during the end game," said Breda. "For now, the main thing is just to get the Lt Colonel promoted and eventually, transferred to Central. And we've got to keep our cover, too."

More discussion followed.

When the meeting was over, Mustang stayed in the conference room with Hawkeye. Havoc, the last one out, made to close the door, but Mustang shook his head. He didn't want to risk rumors getting started about the Lt Colonel and his aide.

"None of it had to happen," he said, quietly. "None of it. The Rebellion was always containable. Bradley had to _work_ at keeping it going. Even Fuery could tell the man deserved death."

Hawkeye nodded. There were no words.

"For all the screams I've heard, in Ishval and in my nightmares, I think I would enjoy hearing his," he said.

"Don't think about it, sir," she said, not sure herself how to prevent it.

"You've still got my back, Second Lieutenant," he said. "Right?"

She nodded.

"Don't forget. If I stray. You have the right."

"I know sir," she said.

And amazingly enough, her answer seemed to calm him.

When they got back to the staff room, which was not secure, Lt Colonel Roy Mustang addressed them all.

"As an individual, I am powerless. That's why I need all of you to help me protect this nation. I will protect you. In turn, you will protect as many others as possible. No matter how few, always look out for your subordinates. And those below you will in turn protect their subordinates. No matter what happens, stubbornly cling to your will to survive. Live and help to change this country."

* * *

Author's Note:

Roy's final speech in the staff room is from Volume 15, p173.


	16. Dining Out

**Dining Out**

When Lt Colonel Mustang brought in a woman as his second in command, the gossip did not start immediately. All of the Ishval vets knew about Hawkeye and any of them who'd actually served with her held her in a kind of superstitious awe. It made perfect sense that the Hero of Ishval would choose the Hawk's Eye as his aide and second in command.

Once the two of them were actually in the same office for a while though, speculation began. Mustang was good looking and young, not just 'young to be a Lt Colonel already.' Quite a few of the women at East HQ, soldier and civilian, envied Hawkeye her position so close to him.

Oddly enough, Mustang's meticulous politeness and adherence to military protocol, _especially_ around lower-ranking female soldiers, added fuel to the fire.

"He's _sooo_ charming."

"He told me he was sure_ no one else _would do a better job with the report."

"He never calls any of the girls by their first names. He always uses their rank. Isn't that just so _dignified_!"

"I'll bet he calls _her_ by her first name."

"No, really, he never has."

"That just means no one's ever caught them. Boy, I'd love to be the one to do it ..."

Among the male soldiers, the conversation was a bit different.

"How far do you think he's gotten -"

"Depends. On how far she _wants_ him to get."

Laughter.

* * *

The first Dining Out at East HQ since the Ishval Rebellion was coming up. Fancy mess dress uniforms, women in formal gowns, music, dancing. Roy imagined Hawkeye in the tailored jacket and the long skirt of the women's mess dress uniform. The regular uniform looked awful on women, but the mess dress uniform was much nicer.

* * *

Breda, Havoc, Falman and Fuery were having a late lunch in the small conference room while Mustang and Hawkeye were away at a meeting.

"Mustang likes the ladies and they like him," said Breda. "It's the perfect dodge." He was worried about the talk linking the Lt Colonel with Hawkeye. Better to distract people to something less dangerous.

"So you think there really is something going on between Lt Colonel Mustang and 2nd Lieutenant Hawkeye?" asked Fuery, wide-eyed.

It was Falman who answered. "I don't know, but it doesn't really matter. There's nothing they can do about it until we reach our goal."

"She could transfer out," said Breda. "It would be a shame, but he's the only one we can't replace. We don't _need_ her. And it would be one less thing that could go wrong. If anyone can make fraternization charges stick, Mustang's career is over. They might even kick him out of the military altogether."

"I don't know," said Havoc, slowly. He'd seen her in the staff meeting. "We might need her more than you think. I don't know exactly what it is, but there's something there. Mustang doesn't disappear all day like he used to when it was just me."

"Well Hav," said Breda, "maybe that was just you." Havoc grimaced and threw the roll from his lunch at him.

"I think he has something there," said Falman. "It's not just that the Lt Colonel was gone a lot. He still is. But we never knew where he was, or at least, when we could expect him back. And that _did_ change when the Second Lieutenant came in."

"Hmm," said Breda. "The office didn't seem that lax when I came in."

"Hah," said Havoc. "No one even had a _chance _to report formally before Hawkeye was here. And you know the weekly staff meetings? The first one you went to was the first one we ever had."

"But _you _were here for at least four weeks before she transferred in," Breda said, looking at Falman.

"That is correct," said Falman. "And the Lt Colonel listened to me when he needed supplies or when he wanted to know something. When it came to managing the office ..." He shrugged his shoulders. "No one's interested in bureaucracy."

"So you guys are saying she's the only one who can get him to do what he doesn't want to do?" asked Breda.

Everyone nodded.

"Damn!" said Breda, grabbing his hair as if he would pull it all out. "Our lives are all on the line here. It's bad enough if there's nothing between them, but if there is - "

"it's much better," Falman completed the sentence. "The most unstable situation is a new or potential relationship."

Everyone stared at him.

Falman smiled wryly. "After nineteen years in the military, even I've noticed a few things. It's the people who've known each other since childhood or the married couples who never break the regs. They've already worked things out."

"They served together in Ishval," said Havoc. "That's got to be worth five years right there."

"And they knew each other before that," added Falman. "He apprenticed with her father."

"I really _don't _have a chance," said Havoc, mournfully.

"No one in this office has a chance!" said Breda. "Whether it's technically allowed by the regs or not!"

He glared at Havoc.

"Just a thought," said Havoc, shrugging.

* * *

Jean was looking forward to the Dining Out. Hawkeye had introduced him to her best friend.

Rebecca Catalina was even better looking than Hawkeye, even if she couldn't shoot much better than Breda, although she was better than Fuery, and why the hell was he thinking about her range stats anyway? The main thing was, this was the first Dining Out the place had had in years and he was the only guy in the office who had a date. Not even Mustang did!

* * *

Breda had his chess set out on the extra staff table. He and Falman had taken to keeping a running game going there. He got up to stretch his legs and went over to consider making another move. When Havoc walked through the door, everyone was there in the staff room.

"Who wants to place a bet?" Breda asked, from his position next to the chess board.

Everyone looked up. Havoc and Mustang were always up for a bet. Falman would bet if he thought he had a reasonable chance of winning and Fuery would sometimes bet if Falman did. Even Hawkeye had joined in once so far, but only once.

"Sure, Breda," said Havoc. "What is it?"

"Well, practically every office has this one, so I thought we should too. The bet is who leaves the Dining Out with Mustang and who leaves the Dining Out with the Hawk's Eye. Best odds are "with each other."

The room went deathly silent. Everyone heard the skritch as Breda moved one of the pieces on the chessboard.

Hawkeye was the first to recover. "Don't they have that bet for all the women here?" she said. "That's the way it worked at the Academy."

Breda nodded. "Your move, Falman."

Falman walked over to the chess board and looked down at the pieces. "The odds are near even on Hawkeye and Mustang: 1.08 to 1. But you're right, Second Lieutenant. There are nine enlisted women, eight female officers and eight civilian women. They're all in the pool with different odds to leave with Mustang. And while the man with the best odds to leave with Hawkeye is Mustang, everyone in this office has good odds. Havoc is 1.15 to 1. I'm tied with Breda at 1.22 to 1. Fuery is ... "

"Me!" said Kain, mortified. "I would never ... "

"Of course not, sergeant," said Hawkeye. "And neither would I. With _anyone_ here. So there you go, everyone. A sure bet."

There was another skritch as Vato moved a piece and then, still keeping his head down, he continued, "Of course, _outside_ this office ... "

"I think that's enough, Warrant Officer," said Mustang, coolly. "I don't think anyone here will be betting."

Breda had planned on saying more, but Mustang's tone cut him off.

Falman, however, even though he now recognized _that_ voice, straightened up and faced the Lt Colonel, sweat running down his face. "Most of East HQ is expecting an actual or apparent violation of the fraternization regs," he said. "Those are the facts."

Breda looked over at Falman with new respect. He supposed there could be more than one way to come "under fire."

"So what do you propose we do about these _facts_?" asked Roy.

Falman stood there, silent.

Havoc broke the silence. "Kill 'em all and let the gods sort 'em out," he said, leaning back against his table and inspecting the gun he'd pulled out of his holster.

Somehow, that changed the atmosphere completely.

"Well, we do have control over the main variables," said Breda. "We could make a point."

" And clean up too, while we're at it," said Hawkeye. "Sure bets."

* * *

At the Dining Out, Mustang danced with every woman there. When it was over, he left the Dining Out three times, each time with a different woman on his arm. Of course, he just walked her to the taxi he had called, but Falman had confirmed that the actual terms of the bets were "leaving the Dining Out." Not "going home with." Although they'd had a plan for that one too.

Hawkeye, on the other hand, left the Dining Out conspicuously alone.

And Havoc left with the other guys, instead of with Catalina. She was one of the three women who had "left the Dining Out" with Mustang. The next day, several people sympathized with him for losing his girl to Mustang, even though Havoc still went out with her after that.

Everything had gone according to plan. Mustang was connected with several women at East HQ, all of them civilians or officers who were not in his chain of command. Hawkeye was connected with no one. And Mustang and his crew cleaned up on every betting pool related to the Dining Out.

* * *

**Author's Note**

I'm assuming they had someone place the bets for them in the other pools, and split the take.


	17. Resembool

**Resembool**

There should have been nothing extraordinary about the recruiting trip to Resembool. Falman had put together a list of alchemists for Roy and Hawkeye to visit in the East. They were stopping at a couple of towns on the way there and another couple of towns on the way back. Resembool itself was the end of the line, as far East as you could get without entering the Ishval region.

But after the meeting with the Elric brothers, Roy had wanted to return to East immediately, skipping his appointments on the return leg of the trip. Hawkeye managed to convince him there was no need to and that it would actually look suspicious if he treated their visit to the Elrics any differently than their other visits. She did call ahead, though, and ask Falman to move the Friday staff meeting to Thursday. And she stressed that it had to be held in the small conference room.

Everyone assembled for the meeting in what was becoming their usual places. Hawkeye stood behind Roy, Havoc stood across the table from her and everyone else sat at the table.

"We're going to talk about the alchemists from Resembool," said Roy. "From this point on, nobody takes any notes or writes anything down. Warrant Officer, can you remember what we discuss here?"

"Yes sir," said Falman.

"First of all," said Roy, "our information was incorrect. Edward Elric is eleven years old, not thirty-one. And his brother Alphonse is ten."

"I'm sorry sir," said Falman, flushing. He resolved to himself to go back and check the original documents to find his mistake.

"Jumping the gun then, aren't we?" said Breda. "We're at least six years too early."

"The eleven-year-old did human transmutation," said Roy. "Twice. The first time he failed. He survived the rebound at the loss of his left leg and right arm but the ten-year-old didn't. The second time he succeeded - he bound his brother's soul to a suit of armor."

"He ... succeeded? That's never been -" said Breda.

"Not that I know of," said Roy. "The boy is a child prodigy. If he lives up to his potential, he'll make me look like a second rate hack when he grows up."

"Okay, so the kid's good. He's still too young." Havoc frowned.

"Er, not exactly, sir," said Falman. "There's an old regulation on the books that allows a father to 'provisionally enlist' his son at the age of ten. It's a holdover from the days when knights had pages. The commanding officer is considered 'in loco parentis' until the boy is old enough to enlist on his own. According to the regulation, the boy has to stay with the commanding officer his father signed him over to."

"So if I'm that commanding officer, Bradley can't get him until he turns seventeen?"

"Correct. Unless he changes the regs. Which he could do, of course."

"Oh," said Havoc. "Bradley? You think he would - ?"

"But if Bradley never finds out about him ..." Breda said, thinking out loud.

"Yeah, like that'll be easy," said Havoc. "How many people know that suit of armor is empty? And how do they explain the brother being in armor all the time in the first place?"

"You hit the nail on the head, Second Lieutenant," said Roy. "I told Edward I'd keep his secret, but unless we lock his brother away somewhere, it can't be done. We can make up some story for most people, but what are our chances of keeping this from Bradley's sources?"

"Zero," said Breda, flatly. "So we keep him with us or he goes straight to Bradley, is that it?"

"And we know how Bradley uses powerful alchemists," said Hawkeye, grimly.

"What about their parents?" asked Fuery. "What do they think about this?"

"Their mother died of an illness several years ago," said Hawkeye. "Their father abandoned the family before that. A neighbor woman has been looking in on them. She runs an automail shop, by the way. Edward would get the automail for his arm and his leg done there."

"Eleven years old," said Havoc, shaking his head. "Can't we spirit them both out of the country? Creta or Aerugo?"

"Can we? Do we have any place to send them?" asked Roy.

Everyone was quiet.

"It should take two or three years for the automail," said Hawkeye. "So Edward would be about 14 before he actually joined."

"And Bradley gets him when he's seventeen anyway," said Havoc. "We're just buying time."

"But in the meantime, we've got him," said Roy. "Someone with that kind of talent has to be useful. Maybe he could help get me promoted."

Breda got the look on his face that meant he was thinking of angles, but the others all showed various degrees of discomfort.

"If he accepts my invitation to join the military, he'll have an Alchemist's funding and he'll be under my protection, under the protection of this office," said Roy. "If he doesn't accept, he stays where he is in Resembool. It's his decision. But if he joins this office, he'll be working towards the goals of this office. Does anyone have a problem with that?"

Roy looked at Hawkeye. "I'll let you know if I think it becomes a problem, sir," she said. Havoc noticed her hands were both in front of her, away from her holster.

"I'm in sir," said Havoc. "But we should try to get him out of the way before the end."

"If possible," said Roy, making no promises.

"We're making him a target!" protested Fuery.

"He's already a target," said Breda. "No matter what we do. He made himself a target when he did human transmutation."

"We've got a deadline, then," said Falman. "As long as Bradley is in power, Edward is in danger. If he's with us, we might postpone it for a few years, but it would be best if Bradley is out before Edward is seventeen. That gives us roughly six years." He frowned. That didn't seem like very much time.

"Sergeant, do you want to transfer out?" asked Roy, seeing the expression on his face. "You can go back to Grumman. No hard feelings."

"No sir," Fuery said finally. "I'll stay. For now."

* * *

**Author's Note:**

The genocide campaign in Ishval was in 1908.

Ed and Al attempted human transmutation in the fall of 1909. So Roy and Riza's visit to Resembool would have happened during his first year of active duty after returning from Ishval.

In the manga, Roy doesn't seem to know about the Gate of Truth to start out with. So I'm assuming that Edward didn't tell him exactly how he lost his arm and leg, and that Roy assumed he'd lost them both in the rebound from the first transmutation.

If I've got any of this wrong, please let me know.


	18. Frivolity

**Frivolity**

Fuhrer King Bradley was making a tour of what was left of Ishval with Brigadier General Raven, who'd never set foot there. They commandeered a train all the way to the end of the line in Resembool. From there, most of the staff took jeeps over the rutted unpaved roads and paths, while the Fuhrer and Raven rode horses.

Sergeant Fuery had figured out the frequency of the Fuhrer's party in Ishval and set up some equipment in the secured small conference room. He and Falman were taking shifts monitoring the Fuhrer's communications.

Around the same time, Brigadier General Hakuro had arrived at East HQ from New Optain to meet with Lt General Grumman and to position himself closer to the Fuhrer while he was on tour. He passed by the wide open door of Mustang's staff room and couldn't help looking in.

The sight he saw wasn't very encouraging.

An overweight Second Lieutenant was sitting with his feet up on his table, his jacket unbuttoned, working a crossword puzzle and eating a sandwich even though it was nowhere near lunchtime. Another Second Lieutenant, trim and wearing the uniform appropriately, was smoking and throwing wads of paper across the office to a wastebasket near the door. The only other person in the room, a white haired Warrant Officer, appeared to be the only person doing any work, filling out a form on a typewriter.

Worst of all, though, were the conversations he heard coming through the partially open door of Mustang's small conference room.

"Of course I want to see you, Janette. How can you say that?" "Yes, I'm counting the days. Til then." Click.

Then came the sound of the rotary phone dialing. "Hello? Madeline?" "Yes, it's me, Roy." "Of course there's no one else."

Hakuro was getting ready to break in on this farce of a military office when he saw that another Second Lieutenant, a woman, had come up next to him at the door. Her expression was almost as sour as his.

"That's what I get for leaving the office for half an hour," she muttered under her breath. Then she seemed to notice the Brigadier General.

"Excuse me, sir," she said. "You must be Brigadier General Hakuro. I'm Second Lieutenant Hawkeye," she said and saluted.

Hakuro was somewhat mollified by the stern young woman with the precise salute.

"May I take care of this, sir?" she asked, with a pained, longsuffering expression.

"Carry on, Second Lieutenant," Hakuro said, remaining by the door.

"Breda! Havoc!" said Hawkeye as she stepped into the staff room.

Breda got up so fast he knocked the chair over and brought his hand up to a salute with his sandwich still in it.

Havoc dropped his cigarette out of his mouth and crushed it with his boot, raising the hand with the wad of paper he was preparing to throw next to his forehead in his own attempt at a salute.

Hawkeye let them stand there like that for a moment before returning the salutes. "At ease gentlemen," she said. "Back to _work_."

She continued on to the door to the small conference room and tapped on it. "Lt Colonel Mustang?" It wasn't the command voice she'd used on the two out in the staff room, but it was still stern.

"I'm sorry, Sonja, I've got to go now." "Yes, we're still on for this Friday." "Me too." Click.

"Yes, Second Lieutenant," Mustang said, coming to the door.

"I thought we had an agreement, sir," she said. "Sergeant Fuery added a phone to this conference room so that your _confidential_ calls wouldn't disturb the work in the staff room. That's not going to work if you don't close the door."

"Ah, yes," said Mustang, with his most charming smile and the same tone of voice he'd been using for his other calls. "I forgot. I'm so glad I have you to keep me in line."

Hawkeye gave him a disgusted look and closed the door to the room, practically in his face.

With no more sound coming from the conference room and all three soldiers actually working at their tables, she returned to the staff room door to check on Brigadier General Hakuro.

"Brigadier," she asked, "do you need to see Lieutenant Colonel Mustang?"

"No, Second Lieutenant," he said. "I can't imagine what I'd have to say to such a frivolous young man. I can't believe he's reached the rank of Lieutenant Colonel with that kind of work ethic."

"You're here to see Lt General Grumman, aren't you sir?" she asked.

"Yes, I am."

"Could you put it in a word about the Lt Colonel for me, sir?" she asked. "I don't want to get him into too much trouble, but it's wearing me down. I just left to get in some range time and you saw what happened."

"I'll see what I can do," he said, then continued down the hall.

Once Hakuro was out of sight, Hawkeye closed the staff room door down to a crack and went to Mustang's desk. She grabbed a pack of the kind of cigarettes Havoc smoked from the drawer with Mustang's cache and threw it to Havoc. He caught it one-handed, knocked a cigarette out of it, then threw the pack back to Hawkeye. She caught it one-handed as well, dropped it back into the drawer and slid the drawer closed with her leg.

"Breda, you have some mustard on your forehead," she added, before going on into the small conference room.

"Sheesh," said Havoc, lighting up the replacement for the cigarette he'd lost. "I hope that Sonja he was talking about wasn't the little redhead from Admin. I already asked her out for this Friday."


	19. Taking Off

**Taking Off**

The Fuhrer was inspecting Daliha on horseback with Brigadier General Raven. The district's largest city looked like a ghost town, nothing moving, nothing but stone and bleached bones remaining. The Flame Alchemist was known for his thoroughness.

Over Raven's protests, Bradley had left the rest of their party, including their guards, back with the vehicles. The two of them had dismounted and were walking alone in the ruins when the man attacked.

It happened so fast that Raven would have sworn the Fuehrer hadn't moved at all if he hadn't seen the blood on one of his swords. There was a trail of blood leading out into the desert that disappeared beyond a sand dune.

"Brigidier General," asked Bradley, "aren't you going to go after him?"

Raven's eyes went wide for a moment. He was a coward, but considered himself a wily one. "Of course, Fuhrer," he answered, stalling. "How many of them were there?"

Bradley narrowed his eyes. "Surely you can see for yourself?" There was only one trail of blood.

"But sir, I thought there was another one. You injured one but the other is unharmed."

Rage built up inside him. How dare this - _human _- claim to see what his Ultimate eye had not! "I assure you, there was only one," he said tightly. "But never mind now. You have given him such a head start that it is unlikely that even I could catch up to him now."

Raven quailed, worried that perhaps remaining had been the greater danger.

Bradley smiled dangerously, pleased with the smell of fear. He would use this. "You have put your Fuhrer and through him all of Amestris at risk, Raven."

"Forgive me sir," Raven answered, barely avoiding stuttering. All of his cleverness was gone.

"Never mind," he said again, with a mildness that was incongruous after everything else. "I am sure you will serve me well from now on."

"Yes sir," Raven said, actually coming to attention and saluting.

Bradley didn't return the salute, forcing the man to remain standing ramrod straight with his arm raised to his forehead in the brutal desert sun. He smiled his usual pleasant smile as he walked around him.

When he stood at Raven's back, he raised the tip of his right sword to the back of the man's neck, touching the skin but not breaking it. The slightest movement by either of them would cause it to pierce the skin.

Raven held his breath. That was a mistake.

Bradley waited until he saw the signs that the other man would have to move to take a breath before he lowered the sword and walked around to face him once more.

"It's time for lunch, don't you think, Brigadier General?" he said, as normally and genially as if nothing at all untoward had happened. "Let's break out the rations."

* * *

Back at Eastern HQ, it was Fuery's shift to monitor the the Fuhrer's communications. Breda was currently assigned with him in the conference room to bring in Mustang if something happened.

"This is it, sir," Fuery said. "The Fuhrer's been attacked. Word just came in from Brigadier General Raven."

Breda went behind Mustang's desk and said something softly in his ear. Mustang grinned broadly like a cat that had just seen a mouse and nodded at Hawkeye. She left the office and he went to the conference room to get the word from Fuery.

"Warrant Officer Falman," said Breda. "How would you like to play shogi instead of chess today? Do you know how?"

Falman looked at Breda as if he'd just been asked if he knew the sum of 1 plus 1. He nodded.

Breda somehow found a shogi board and pieces in one of the piles on his desk and brought it over to the spare table. There was plenty of room there, so he didn't even have to move the chess game they had out.

Havoc reluctantly put away the gun that he'd been inspecting and took up his own position. He tacked up a bullseye on the wall next to the door, sat back down in his chair and lit up a cigarette. He took a few draws to get it well started, then started throwing sharp pointed darts at the target.

"I'm sorry, Brigadier General, but I just can't get any work done," came Hawkeye's voice from the hall.

When Hakuro reached Mustang's staff room, the situation was even worse than it had been the other day. Not only was Mustang still flirting on the phone from his private conference room, but this time, even the Warrant Officer was sloughing off work. Clearly, Second Lieutenant Hawkeye was unable to handle this on her own.

Hakuro strode into the room.

Havoc chose just that moment to send a dart whizzing inches from Hakuro's ear to hit the center circle of the bullseye dead on. Then he saw the Brigadier's face and snapped to attention, raising a hand in salute.

Falman blushed beet red, came to attention saluting and stammered, "Brigadier General, sir, I'm very sorry, sir."

Breda came to something that might roughly be called attention and touched his hand to his forehead.

Hakuro looked at the three soldiers, sneering. He released Falman first, returning the salute. "Get back to work, Warrant Officer." He figured the man had just fallen among bad influences.

Then he walked up to Havoc. "I was not aware that soldiers were authorized target practice in the staff rooms at East Headquarters."

"No sir," answered Havoc, hand still to forehead.

"Then what is the meaning of that, Second Lieutenant?" he asked, motioning towards the target.

"Just taking a break, sir," answered Havoc.

"And what are you going to do next?" he asked.

"Take it down, sir," answered Havoc.

"Good answer, Second Lieutenant." Hakuro finally returned the salute and Havoc went over to the wall to take down the target.

Last of all, Hakuro came to Breda. He'd expected the fat man to have trouble holding his salute by now, but he was showing no signs of strain.

"Well, Second Lieutenant, do you have an explanation?"

"Brigadier General, my position is strategist. Shogi is a game of strategy. I was working," he answered. There was no trace of guilt or apology in his tone.

"What is your name, soldier?" Hakuro was not happy with the answer or the tone in which it had been delivered.

"Heymans Breda, sir."

"Heymans Breda, that is the sorriest excuse for standing at attention that I have ever seen. Stand up straight and button your jacket!"

Breda straightened up, also straightening his arm into the correct position for a salute. But he didn't button his jacket.

"Are you disobeying a direct order, soldier? Button your jacket!" he repeated, raising his voice.

"You haven't released me from my salute yet, sir," Breda answered.

Hakuro returned the salute with a vicious snap and turned toward the conference room, which he suddenly realized was very quiet. Mustang's casual posture, leaning against the doorway, was in stark contrast to the predatory look on his face.

"Second Lieutenant Hawkeye, get me a vehicle and wait for me outside," he said harshly. "You are dismissed."

"Yes sir," she said, leaving.

"Lieutenant Colonel Mustang, you are not going to take this out on the only member of your staff with any discipline."

"With all due respect, sir," said Mustang, "she is my subordinate and I will deal with her as I see fit. Unless you wish to speak with Lieutenant General Grumman and get her reassigned."

Hakuro paused. His talk with Grumman the other day had been a disaster.

"In fact," continued Mustang, "I intend to deal with _all _of my subordinates as I see fit."

He turned to the others. "Second Lieutenant Havoc, Second Lieutenant Breda, Warrant Officer Falman. You've all been working hard recently. I'd like you to take the rest of the week off. Starting now."

Hakuro stood there, furious, as the three soldiers quickly gathered their things and left the room. Mustang sat down at his desk and picked up a document. "Is there anything I can do for you, Brigadier General Hakuro?" he said. "I'll be leaving in a few minutes myself."

"No, Lieutenant Colonel," said Hakuro. "You've made it abundantly clear that there is nothing you could possibly do for me." He turned on his heel and headed out the door.

When Mustang heard his steps fade down the hall, he went back to the conference room. "Are you all packed up, Sergeant?" he asked.

"Yes sir," he said. He had transferred some of his radio equipment to the backpack he was wearing. "When I get the signal that the coast is clear, I'll meet up with you and Second Lieutenant Hawkeye."

"Well done, Sergeant," Mustang said as he left for his own rendezvous.


	20. Vets

**Vets**

Falman had memorized the map of the entire region, so it was decided that he would drive the jeep truck. Fuery got in front with him and put on his headphones to listen to the Fuhrer's radio frequency. Mustang and Breda were in the back seat. And in the open cargo bed with the tent and other supplies were Hawkeye and Havoc, already wearing their white desert coats.

"I hoped I'd never have to wear this again," Havoc said as he pulled it on just before jumping into the truck.

"Yes, I know," said Hawkeye, as she did the same. Riza noticed he hadn't said "I never expected to."

Havoc made sure everything was stowed securely, then they both took up their positions. He sat next to the cab, looking back, and she sat next to the tailgate, looking forward. They laid their sniper rifles on their laps.

"Ready sir?" asked Havoc. Hawkeye nodded and he knocked on the rear window of the cab. They were off.

Inside the jeep, Roy didn't have his desert coat on yet, but he was putting on something else - the shield that had gotten him through Ishval the first time. It should have been harder to lock away the feelings and visceral disgust, but it wasn't. It had only been a little over a year ago. He had barely been back to normal life for as long as he'd spent as a human weapon in the desert.

Falman and Fuery talked quietly in the front from time to time, in good spirits. They were along on the mission, but were unlikely to see combat. The two would man the home base, monitoring the radio and prepared to give first aid and make a fast getaway if necessary.

Heymans looked at Mustang, now staring out the window. He was usually a talker. Not that he chattered and he didn't need to fill every silence, but he liked conversation and was good at it. When they'd started out, the Lt Colonel had asked about Creta and other places Breda had been.

But as the countryside became more desert-like, he'd drifted off into an oppressive silence. Breda had tried to keep the conversation going, but he didn't have Mustang's skill. The Lt Colonel's face began to take on a hard, blank look.

When they'd gotten to the spot they'd chosen for their base camp, Havoc jumped out of the jeep. "Throw me the tent stuff first, sir," he said. He caught each bag as Hawkeye heaved it to him, carried it a few steps from the jeep and then came back for more.

"Breda, Falman, set up the tent first," Havoc called. "Fuery, you stay on the radio."

Falman fumbled with the tent, though. He'd read the instructions but never actually pitched a field tent before. Fuery, who'd set them up in Aerugo, ended up helping Breda, while Falman got back in the jeep and monitored the radio from the front passenger seat.

Roy leaned against the jeep outside of Falman's window and watched the bustle. He told himself he was just staying out of everyone's way.

Once the tent was up and the supplies were stowed inside, Fuery came back for Falman and the radio equipment.

Mustang's voice was carefully cheerful when he walked back and greeted Breda after he entered the tent, but it was off. Mechanical. _I'd never have signed up with someone like that_, thought Breda, looking around at the other Ishval vets as well. Hawkeye and Havoc also looked off, a little too hard, a little blank.

Then Fuery and Falman came into the tent with the radio equipment and got their first good look at the Ishval vets since they'd started off in the jeep. Falman sensed something wrong and frowned slightly, looking to Fuery to see what it was. But Fuery had just frozen to the spot, wide-eyed, mouth partly open.

"Put that over here, Sergeant," said Havoc. When a guy froze in the field, sometimes you just had to get them moving again. "Warrant Officer, grab a coupla chairs. You and Fuery set up the comm station."

Havoc's voice wasn't as hard as his face and Fuery was used to following orders.

Mustang sat down with Breda at a folding table and looked at the maps his strategist had laid out.

Havoc picked up a shovel, thinking of calling Falman to help dig a latrine, but before he could say anything Hawkeye got up and grabbed a shovel too. She followed him outside.

"We're scaring the kids," Hawkeye said as they both dug.

"Falman's not a kid," said Havoc. He tossed sandy dirt to one side.

Hawkeye pushed her shovel into the ground. "No, he isn't," she said.

"Mustang could lend a hand," said Havoc and lifted another shovelful.

"Um-hmm," said Hawkeye. She stopped for a moment and wiped the sweat from her forehead.

They worked on in silence.

When they had finished and laid their shovels down, Hawkeye said, "You need a cigarette, soldier," and threw Havoc a pack she'd pulled out of a pocket.

Havoc finally grinned. "I love you, Second Lieutenant. You don't happen to have a match on you? Our do-nothing Lieutenant Colonel isn't here to be useful for a change and give me a light."

Roy smirked from the entrance to the tent. He knew Havoc had seen him and said that last specifically for his benefit.

Without turning to look at the alchemist, Havoc held out his cigarette. Roy rubbed the fingers of his gloved hand together and lit the cigarette from the tent with pinpoint accuracy.

Havoc nodded his thanks.

"You're pretty cheap if you fall in love for a cigarette," said Roy.

"Hey," said Havoc. "I know I'm easy."

* * *

Author's Note:

Won third place for Prompt 105 (Blind Challenge), Cliché on its Head, with the title "Easy" on fma fic contest.


	21. Sweep

**Sweep**

The field tent was at one end of the arc of the pie-shaped segment they were going to sweep. It was only about one-eighth of the circle whose center was where the Fuhrer had been attacked, but they'd determined it to be the most likely place for the fugitive to have run. Their goal was to capture the man who'd attacked the Fuhrer, alive if possible, so that he could be questioned. Hopefully, Mustang would get a promotion out of it.

Breda and the three Ishval vets stood outside the tent.

"Remember," said Havoc, "we could be facing not just one injured Ishvalan warrior but three or four uninjured as well. And they won't be fighting to protect their clan, because they'll be either dead or gone. We have to assume that all they're out for is vengeance."

"Which means the only bargaining power we have is to let them live," said Breda.

"Which means no bargaining power at all, Second Lieutenant Breda," corrected Roy.

"We also can't assume that an Ishvalan who's down is out," Hawkeye reminded them.

"You already said that, sir," said Heymans. He was getting a little annoyed at all these reminders for his benefit. Sure, he hadn't been in Ishval, but he _had_ been in combat before.

"Even one who's fatally wounded. Maybe _especially_ one who's fatally wounded. If we can't immobilize them, we'll have to kill them," Hawkeye continued anyway.

Breda felt three pairs of eyes on him. "I understand."

"Just in case one of _us _can't ... " Havoc started.

Breda looked him straight in the eye. "I _understand_, sir," he repeated, a little more forcefully.

Havoc looked away, but Roy nodded.

They were going to space themselves out on the arc of the circle as far as they could while still maintaining eye contact with at least one of the others at all times. Then they would sweep in towards the center, a distance of about twelve and a half miles.

They walked out from the field tent until Breda could barely see it. "That's me," said Breda.

"Okay," said Havoc. "Signal me when we've gone far enough."

The three Ishval vets walked on in silence, Havoc keeping an eye back towards Breda. "That's it," said Havoc. "My stop."

Roy and Hawkeye continued on. When they reached the spot where Roy could barely see Havoc, he stopped.

"Be careful, sir," said Hawkeye. She didn't like leaving him alone on a field of battle like this, even though she would still be in visual contact with him.

Roy grinned, knowing her thoughts. "I always am."

"That's what I'm afraid of, sir," she said. "You're always careful and yet somehow you always end up in trouble."

"Then it's a good thing that I have the two best snipers in Amestris with me, one on each side," he answered in the voice he used to flirt on the phone.

She gave him a look that was half-smile, half disgust, then turned and walked on until he gave her the signal that she was on the edge of his visual range.

They got their bearings toward the center of the circle using their compasses. When Roy had counted down five minutes to give everyone time, he gave the signal and they started their sweep.

They'd found out about the attack almost as soon as it had occurred, around 11:30 am. Everything was ready to go, so it took them no more than a quarter of an hour to set up their alibis and rendezvous at the jeep. It took about an hour and a quarter to drive the eighty-some miles between East City and the Ishval border where they set up their base camp. Another half hour for that and then well over an hour to walk out the ten-mile arc and take up their positions. By the time they had actually started their sweep their quarry had a head start of three to four hours, injured, during the hottest time of the day.

They went slowly, signalling around the arc for a stop whenever any of them had to take more time to check out a pile of rocks or a ravine.

They had gotten about half way to the center when Jean called one such stop. The distance between them had now decreased from roughly two and a half miles to one and a quarter. They could all see each other now except Hawkeye and Breda on the ends.

Havoc saw dirty white fabric weighted down with sand on one side. As he approached carefully, he saw dried brown and rips. It was an emergency shelter and looked like it had been attacked. He signalled the others to join him.

When they got there, Roy and Hawkeye and Breda approached the shelter while Jean kept a lookout on the horizon all around.

"She's dead," said Roy. Jean turned to look.

Someone had dug out a trench about one and a half feet deep, six feet long and four feet wide and lined it with the traditional Ishvalan men's striped sash. The torn white blood-stained fabric Jean had seen had been the "roof" of the make-shift shelter. Seeing the bare-headed woman lying on the sash, it appeared to have been her floor length head covering.

"It's been strafed by machine-gun fire," said Havoc. He had a bad feeling about this.

"Whoever it was may still be around," said Hawkeye. "Look sharp."

"There's at least two, then," said Roy. "The man who was travelling with this woman and the person with the machine gun."

"Unless they're the same person," said Breda. "Could he have killed her himself?"

Havoc continued scanning the horizon, refusing to look toward the shelter again. "He could have, but he wouldn't have used bullets. He would have slit her throat or strangled her."

"Could she have been alone?" asked Breda.

"See how wide that shelter is?" said Jean, glancing back at it for a moment. "It would be much narrower if it was for just one. I guess she could have been travelling with another woman."

Jean paused.

"I saw these on clean-up. Sometimes people would seem to just jump out of the ground."

He paused again.

"Standard operating procedure was to strafe them first, like someone did here. Then you uncover them and take care of whoever's still alive."

Roy remembered something. _"... sometimes we'd find a baby or a really young kid who was still alive and unhurt because its mother or father had covered it with their body."_

"Okay, all of you, I'm going to check further. Watch for the Ishvalan or the machine gunner," said Roy.

There was only one place to check. Jean kept his back resolutely to the shelter. If Mustang was going to do something, he didn't want to watch ...

"I've got him," said Roy. "He's still alive. No wounds, but I imagine he hasn't had anything to eat or drink for a while."

"We'll have to call off the search then, sir," said Breda. There was disappointment in his voice but no doubt that that was what they would do.

"There will be other opportunities," said Hawkeye.

Jean still kept his back to the shelter but started to relax his stiff posture. They had resources. It wasn't a war zone. And like Hawkeye said, there would be other opportunities.

"I don't think we need to give up quite yet," said Roy. "Second Lieutenant Havoc?"

Jean went rigid again and turned to look at Roy, who was holding the limp Ishvalan infant in his arms. "Lt Colonel, I'm not going to - ," he began.

"... take him back to base camp for us?" finished Roy quietly.

"Of course!" said Breda. "We," he waved his hand indicating the rest of them, "wait here. We'll lose some time, but you'll be the fastest, Hav. We'll still be able to finish at least one sweep before nightfall."

Roy carefully laid the infant in Havoc's arms. "Hurry, my friend," he said. "Here's one you might be able to save."

"Yes, SIR," he answered and began to jog the six miles back to camp.


	22. Brothers

Falman took the first shift, from 1530 to 1730, monitoring the radio, while Fuery paced slowly around the tent, keeping watch. They changed positions around the time Havoc was discovering the Ishvalan emergency desert shelter.

* * *

Four pairs of eyes watched the Amestrian soldiers discover the shelter. Three were red and one was blue, but all watched from over a mile away, through binoculars.

"We're too late," said the Amestrian. "The soldiers have already found them."

"My wife's sister is dead," said an Ishvalan man. "I don't see her husband."

"The blues must have shot up the shelter while he was out, brother."

"They found the baby," said the first man's wife. They watched while the black-hair handed the child to the tall yellow-hair. Then to the surprise of all four, he started running back in the direction they had come from, while the other three sat down.

"Did he kill my sister's son?" asked the woman, frantically. "I didn't see it."

"He's taking the child back to their tent to kill it," said the Amestrian. "Some of them are too squeamish to kill one that young. He'll have one of his comrades do it."

The woman, her husband and her husband's brother looked at each other. "Why is he running then?" asked the husband. "These Ami's are desert soldiers - at least the black-hair and the two yellow-hair are. He wouldn't run during the day unless it was important."

The Ami shrugged his shoulders. "I'm just a merchant passing through. You know better than me. Who can tell why a dog of the military runs one way or another?"

"We follow the child," said the husband's brother and began jogging as well, staying just outside of the Ami soldier's sight. The woman and her husband got up and began walking. The Ami stood there, undecided, then called after them, "Good luck! I'm returning to camp."

After all three Ishvalans had passed out of his sight, the Ami's body seemed to melt and shift. Where a blue-eyed merchant had stood was now a white stallion, which took off towards the Fuhrer's camp.

* * *

It was around 1800. The cord to Fuery's headphone was long enough to let him move around the tent. He handed Falman a cup of water and a tin of food with a fork as he stopped by the tent entrance, then sat back down at the radio to eat himself.

Falman had hardly had time to take more than a bite or two before he noticed a figure on the horizon coming from the direction the others had taken in their sweep.

"Someone's coming," he called through the tent. "One, I think." He trained his gun on the figure.

Fuery opened one of the seams on the side where Falman was standing and got out his own gun, still staying connected to the radio. "Standing by," he said.

Vato was sweating, not just from the desert heat which was starting to dissipate. He'd never shot anyone before, or even aimed a gun at someone. His arms and hands were steady though, which gave him some confidence. He took a deep breath and focused on the figure.

Kain forgot to breath for a moment, then gasped in a breath. He also aimed his gun in the direction of the figure. "Please God, if I have to shoot don't let me miss," he repeated to himself, over and over.

They both stood that way for a few minutes and then Vato lowered his gun. "It's Havoc," he said, voice full of relief.

"He's running, sir," said Fuery anxiously. "Don't lower your gun. Someone could be chasing him."

Falman quickly raised his gun again, eyes wide.

Havoc saw Falman facing him with his gun raised and another gun poking out from inside the tent on the same side.

"Dammit Falman, you're on watch. What if someone's coming from the other side?" he shouted.

Falman immediately started walking around the tent, right in front of Fuery's gun.

Fuery forgot to breathe again when he saw his gun not six inches from Falman for a moment as he passed by.

Fortunately, no one was shot, no one was following Havoc and apparently no one had snuck up on them during the ten or so minutes they'd both been completely focused in one direction.

Havoc came into the tent with a bundle wrapped in a piece of brown-stained dirty white cloth.

"Sergeant, you can stow your weapon," he said. It had been an easy jog, about half an hour, and while he was sweating profusely, his breath was back to normal in only a couple of minutes. He unwrapped part of the cloth. "What do you know about babies?"

Kain smiled and took the baby from Havoc. "Aren't you sweet?" he crooned in a soft, calm voice. Continuing in the same voice, he said, "I'm the oldest. Four younger brothers and sisters," as he unwrapped the child and ran his hand along its body.

"You're about three months, aren't you? No cuts or bruises," he said. "No sunburn, either. Somebody's kept you well-shielded from the sun."

Kain held him securely in one arm while he shook the pillow out of the pillowcase on his sleeping bag.

He put the baby in the pillowcase, covering his head but leaving his face showing. "Dehydrated," he said. He dipped a finger in his cup of water and put it up to the baby's mouth. "Come on, sweetie," he crooned. "Here's some water." The baby still lay there, limp.

Havoc held his breath.

Kain sat down in Mustang's field chair, the only one with a back and arms and lifted the baby to his chest, then tried with the wet finger again. The baby fluttered his eyes and moved his lips. "That's right, you know this position, don't you?" he said. "Come on, it's not mummy but it's nice wa-wa."

Kain kept dipping his finger and putting it to the child's lips, but he wasn't seeing or hearing much swallowing.

"Here," he said, handing him to Havoc. "Hold him a minute."

Havoc took him and watched in amazement as Fuery took off his jacket and then his T-shirt to reveal a chest well covered with hair and then reached to take the child back.

"What are you - " he started to say, but Kain ignored him.

He pressed the infant against his bare chest and once more put a wet finger in his mouth. Finally, he was rewarded with weak but definite sucking and swallows.

"Skin," said Kain. "More water. I'll see if I can get some more into him."

"How did you know - ?"

"Told you," Kain said, not exactly crooning anymore, but still using a very soft, very gentle voice. "I'm a big brother. And ma nursed all of us."

"Oh," said Havoc.

"Second Lieutenant, I don't suppose there's any dried milk in the rations we brought?"

"We have applesauce and protein powder," said Falman through the tent from outside.

Jean suddenly realized that he was standing there, completely useless.

"Falman," he said, "I'll take your watch for a few minutes. Get Fuery whatever he needs. I need to get back to the others so we can finish the sweep."

He listened to Falman and Fuery talk about babies and baby food while he circled the tent. At one point, he spoke through the tent: "Are you a big brother too, Warrant Officer?"

"I'm in the middle, 2nd Lt," he said.

"I'm the youngest," said Jean. "All the others are sisters."

"No wonder he's so useless," said Kain softly. "Spoiled baby brother."

Havoc almost said, "I heard that!" but he didn't want to disturb what Fuery was doing.

A minute later, Falman came back outside.

"We've got it under control. You can take off, sir," he said.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

What Kain does to get the baby to drink is correct, according to my experience when I was a nursing mother.


	23. Blues and Reds

It was going on 1900 and close to sunset when Havoc made it back to the others. With the four of them covering the decreasing area of the last six mile segment, they were able to cover the last six miles in only one hour. They were searching by starlight by the time they came to the perimeter of the Fuhrer's camp and turned around to walk the 12 miles back to the field tent.

* * *

After the sun went down, the white horse changed shape to a dark-eyed Amestrian soldier and approached the Fuhrer's tent.

The two guards outside the tent came to attention and saluted. "As you were," said the officer. "Sergeant, would you like to let the Fuhrer know I'm here?"

The sergeant ducked into the tent where the Fuhrer was standing over a table spread with maps. "Sir! Brigadier General Raven to see you, sir!"

Bradley smiled genially. "Show him in, please, Sergeant."

When Raven had entered the tent, Bradley said with annoyance, "What a surprise to see you back here, Brigadier. Especially since you left to return to Central after lunch."

"You can't expect me to keep track of where all these worms are wriggling to," said Raven in a very un-Raven-like tone of voice.

"What brings you here? Did Father send you?"

"Nah. Just thought I'd visit while I'm in the neighborhood," he answered, arms crossed. "I was gonna have a few laughs but a bunch of your guys messed it up."

Bradley raised an eyebrow. "Does this have anything to do with the Ishvalan who attacked me this morning?"

"D'you like that?" Raven grinned. "This shape's person is such a coward. - '_I thought there were two'_," he mocked. "There were a bunch of the red-eyes sneaking through here before you came out and they went to ground. I took on the shape of one of them and had his wife and baby watching while I went in to attack you. Raven was supposed to follow and kill me right in front of them."

"I had a bit of fun with him myself after that," Bradley said. "But you said 'a bunch of my guys.' Who else was there?"

Raven's shape melted into another shape, an androgynous person with a skin-tight half shirt and shorts. Envy sat on the floor, since the flimsy camp chairs wouldn't be able to take the weight, and answered.

* * *

The brother-in-law got in sight of the field tent first. He flattened himself to the ground and looked through the binoculars. There was a blue walking around the tent and for a moment he thought it was another Ishvalan because of the white hair, but his skin was much too pale. The yellow-hair must have gotten there already. He scanned the ground around the tent for a body or blood, but saw none. Of course, he could only see one side of the tent.

The white-hair was talking through the tent. The Ishvalan wished he could hear what the blue was saying. Then the yellow-hair came out of the tent and the white-hair went back in. He started walking around the tent, clearly no longer with the child. He also talked through the tent. Then the white-hair stuck his head out of the tent and the yellow-hair started running back where he'd come from.

A little while later, around sunset, the Ishvalan's brother and sister-in-law caught up to him.

"The yellow-hair has been and gone back," he said. "I haven't seen the baby."

"These aren't the same blues that killed your sister," said the husband. "They obviously didn't know about the shelter before they found it. I've never heard of a blue saving an Ishvalan child, but other Amestrians have. Perhaps ..."

"The child has gone nearly a day in the desert with nothing to drink," said the woman. "I'll beg the blues to let me feed him if they haven't killed him yet."

* * *

Falman saw her and lifted his gun once more. "Sergeant, it's an Ishvalan woman this time."

"Put your hands up!" he ordered.

She did, but she also stopped. Falman walked as far from the tent as he thought was wise, but she was still several yards away.

"Er, keep coming, please," he said. "Slowly!"

She walked forward until she was almost within arm's reach.

"That's fine. So what do you want?"

"My sister's son. Did the yellow-hair kill him yet?" she asked.

Vato scowled. "Of course not!" he answered indignantly. "Er, you mean the baby, right?"

She smiled broadly at the soldier's reaction. "He must drink soon, sir," she said. "You will let me feed him?"

At this, Fuery showed up at the flap of the tent, holding the baby next to his bare chest. "Search her, Warrant Officer," he said anxiously, headphones on, baby in his left arm and gun in his right hand.

"Oh, right," said Falman and then just stood there. He would have been embarrassed but still able to act if she had been an Amestrian soldier or even an Amestrian civilian woman. But faced with an Ishvalan woman in full robe and body length head covering, he hesitated.

"Warrant Officer, let's trade," Fuery said, seeing his hesitation.

Falman came back to the door of the tent and put on Fuery's headphones. Then he unbuttoned his own jacket and took the baby, holding him next to his white T-shirt.

Fuery stepped out towards the woman, gun aimed at her, but with his usual smile on his face. "I'm sorry, ma'am, but I'm going to have to search you before we can let you in the tent. The baby's okay - he's taken some water and applesauce so far."

The Ishvalan woman stared at the half-naked Amestrian soldier who was only a little taller than she was. "Yes, sir," she said.

Fuery patted her down as she blushed furiously.

"She's okay, Warrant Officer," he called, still scanning the horizon. Then he nodded at her. "Go ahead in, ma'am."

The two men watched through binoculars, their guns trained on the blues. When the shirtless black-hair walked toward the woman and began to touch her, her husband almost fired. "He has to search her, brother," said the other man. "And they have the baby."

Kain looked out into the falling darkness. "Look," he called. "If you're out there, the baby's okay. You can come in too, but you have to give us your weapons if you have any." He couldn't believe an Ishvalan woman would be travelling the desert on her own.

"I'm going," said the husband. "If they're going to shoot my wife, they can shoot me too."


	24. On the Way Back

Mustang, Hawkeye, Havoc and Breda walked quietly for the first couple of miles on the way back. Once they were sure they were out of earshot of Bradley's perimeter guards, they started talking.

"So Hav, will the truck still be there when we get back?" asked Breda.

"Of course," he answered. "Why wouldn't it be?"

"That kid didn't look too good," said Breda. "You don't think Fuery or Falman had to take him to the hospital?"

"The sergeant seemed to think he could get enough food and water in him. He really knows a lot about kids."

"He should," said Mustang. "Doesn't he have several younger brothers and sisters?"

"Four, sir," said Hawkeye.

"Sounds right," said Breda.

Havoc looked from one face to the other in the starlight. "So everyone knows but me?"

"You might try actually _reading_ some of the stuff that comes through your inbox, Hav," said Breda. "There's a sheet of contact and family information in there somewhere."

Jean grimaced.

"So the child is doing all right, Second Lieutenant?" asked Roy.

"Yeah," said Havoc. "Looks like it. Thanks, sir."

Breda listened to the exchange in frustration. "For what? Letting you run back? What else would we do?"

"As you said, Second Lieutenant, it was either that or all of us go back," said Hawkeye calmly, as if that actually answered the question.

"Unless you think you could have run faster, Second Lieutenant Breda?" Roy asked with a smirk. They all laughed at that and Heymans gave up on his questions for the time being. He could recognize a runaround when he saw one.

"We didn't find the attacker," said Breda. "By now, he's either gone or dead. Do we want to continue this the next spot over tomorrow in case he's dead and we can find the body?"

They discussed what they might do for a while, but by the time they had reached the halfway point and beyond, they had fallen silent again.

Havoc was the first to hear it. "At 4 o'clock," he said. "Something's coming."

"Circle," said Roy. "You and Hawkeye face it, Breda and I watch the back."

"I hear growls. Dog maybe. And footsteps - running," said Havoc.

"I've got a visual," said Hawkeye. "The dog's eyes. Nothing else yet."

"Steady," said Roy. "Wait until you can see the person."

"Got him," said Hawkeye. "Ishvalan. With a knife."

"Take down the dog and the knife."

Two shots rang out, one from Hawkeye and one from Havoc. The dog yelped and its eyes were no longer visible. The knife flew out of the man's hand and he tried to go from an all out run to an immediate stop.

"Don't let him turn!"

Havoc ran and brought him down with a flying tackle, then turned him stomach down and sat on him. He pulled the gold rope from his jacket and tied the Ishvalan's hands together securely behind his back while Breda kept his gun on him and Hawkeye kept a lookout in the other directions.

"Let him sit up," said Roy. "I want to see him."

Roy shone the flashlight on their captive, blinding him. Havoc kept hold of his arms in the back but looked off to the side to keep from being blinded himself.

"Breda, switch with Havoc please," said Roy. "Havoc, look at the wound."

Havoc cut away the fabric. "Looks fresh," he said as he started inspecting the wound. "Doesn't look like it hit anything vital, but deep in places. We need to stop the bleeding soon."

"What do you think caused it?" asked Roy.

Before Havoc could answer, the Ishvalan spoke for the first time. "Soldier ... with ... sword. One eye, covered ... "

Roy grabbed him angrily around the neck. "You wouldn't happen to mean the Fuhrer, would you?"

"Fuhrer?" The man looked confused. Or at least he was _pretending_ to look confused.

"Lt Colonel, the bleeding," reminded Havoc.

Roy put on his gloves and watched the Ishvalan's eyes go wide. He made an ironic bow and introduced himself. "The Flame Alchemist, at your service."

"Havoc, keep him quiet," said Hawkeye. Jean stuffed part of the man's robe in his mouth. Roy rubbed his fingers together and pointed. Breda held the Ishvalan still and watched wide-eyed.

There was the smell of burning flesh but hardly any flame visible at all. "Status?" asked Roy.

"Closed," said Havoc. "You got it in one, sir." Breda breathed again. Mustang had just cauterized the wound.

Roy threw his canteen to Breda. "Give him water. He lost a lot of blood and we don't want him dead before we can question him."

Breda gave him some of the water and after a moment, pulled the Ishvalan up to standing position again.

"Who sent you?" asked Roy.

"No one sent me," answered the Ishvalan, again seeming confused.

"Why do I even bother to ask that question?" Roy asked the night sky. "Does anyone _ever _give a straight answer?"

Then he turned back to the Ishvalan. "So you just happened to show up right when we'd finished our sweep? With a sword wound that just happens to be made by the Fuhrer? And when exactly did you come by this wound?"

"I ... I ... don't know. I was on my way back to the shelter when everything went dark. When I woke, I was at the shelter again and the cover was gone and ... she's dead. Did you kill my son too?"

"Answer my question. When did you get that cut?"

"The sun was down and the evening star just risen," he said. "The man with the sword cut me and left me."

"And this happened where?"

"I t-t-told you, sir. At the shelter."

"Which shelter?" This wasn't making sense anymore.

The man pointed in the direction of the emergency shelter they'd found earlier.

"It's a setup, sir, but I don't think this guy's in on it," said Breda.

"I don't either," said Roy. "The time and the place are wrong."

"And the time he gave matches the wound, sir," said Havoc.

"Someone knows we're here and is trying to convince us this guy is the one we're looking for. They're probably going to follow us if they aren't already," said Breda.

"What do they want us to do? Turn around and take him to the Fuhrer? Who will then point out that this couldn't possibly be the man and make a laughingstock out of me?"

"They'd have to be sure we wouldn't run into the guy who was really guilty," said Breda.

"So they've either got him already or he never existed in the first place," said Roy. "So do we lead them back to the tent?"

"If they know we're here, they already know about the tent. And they know our approximate position right now. I don't think there's any way we could shake them, especially if we keep this guy with us," said Havoc.

"They could be at the tent waiting for us right now," said Hawkeye.

"Well, we're not doing anything illegal," said Roy. "We tell them the truth - we heard about the attack and thought we could help find the culprit. We failed and just found this guy instead. Everyone goes home and better luck next time."

"They'll kill him," said Hawkeye.

"We let him go. Here," said Roy.

"And the baby?" asked Havoc.

"Damn!" said Roy.

After a pause, he said, "If they're already there, I can't think of a damn thing we can do about it. But if we're first ... "

"Cut the Ishvalan loose and give him a canteen. We don't have time for him," said Roy. "Quick but don't run, in case someone is watching."


	25. Together

It took less than an hour to cover the five-some miles to the tent without running, but the time seemed to pass in slow motion.

"He's still with us," said Havoc at one point. "At 5 o'clock, about ten yards out."

"Understood," said Roy. "Let me know if anything changes."

* * *

They saw the field tent first because it was lit up. As they got closer, they began to hear voices. Too many voices.

Havoc cursed softly under his breath as Roy called a halt and they all went to ground, Breda watching behind this time.

But their Ishvalan shadow ran full speed at the field tent, yelling a war cry.

Havoc and Hawkeye both had the man in their sights, waiting for Roy's order, but a shot rang out from the other direction and the man fell.

They all watched as another Ishvalan man, armed with a rifle, joined Fuery.

"Oh, shit," they heard Fuery say. "Are you sure?" Then, "Go get him. I'll cover you."

Roy still couldn't figure out what was going on, but at this rate if they didn't identify themselves they were likely to get shot. By their own men.

"Havoc, stay here and out of sight," he said. "Everyone else, stay down until I give the word."

"Fuery, report!" he said, standing and shining a flashlight on the ground in front of him.

"Sir! We have four Ishvalans in the tent, two adult male, one adult female, and the baby. No hostiles until this guy. Except he's not really - "

"Anyone else?"

"No sir."

"We're coming in. No casualties."

They came around to the door of the tent and Fuery's eyes went wide when he saw that Havoc was missing.

They got the same reaction from Falman when Roy repeated, "We're all here. No casualties." Though it was less obvious on the Warrant Officer's face.

_Why don't we just broadcast "One missing"?_ Roy thought, hoping that no enemy was actually watching this.

"Hawkeye, take the watch, please. Fuery, Falman, may I ask why we have an _armed_ Ishvalan in the tent?"

The Ishvalan looked in fear at Roy's gloves, but knelt down and laid the rifle at Mustang's feet and then scooted back and pressed his forehead to the ground.

The other two men, including the one Fuery had shot, followed suit. The woman, sitting on the ground with the baby in her lap, bowed her head and touched her forehead with a hand that had touched the ground.

Roy had seen Ishvalans curse him, beg him and surrender to him, but this was the first time he'd ever seen any of them make a gesture of respect to him. He actually had no idea what the correct response was.

"Their clan was passing through the desert from Xerxes where they were waiting out the Civil War ," said Fuery, "to East City, where they think they may have some relatives still alive. When the Fuhrer came out, they hid in their shelters and waited for him to go back. Besides these, there are two other families camped in the rocks to the northeast."

Roy wanted to talk to them, but he wanted to see their faces and they didn't look like they were going to move until he said something. "You have my permission to rise," he said, in his most regal voice. They all sat up.

After Roy had finished his interrogation and heard about the Amestrian merchant, the wounded Ishvalan asked in a humble voice, "May I see my son, sir?"

Roy nodded and the man scooted over to his sister-in-law, leaving a trail of blood. "Sir, may I look at the gunshot?" asked the Ishvalan man who had not been armed.

Roy nodded. "Me too, sir?" asked Breda. Roy nodded again.

Fuery just sat there, miserable. He didn't have the baby, he wasn't on watch and Falman was monitoring the radio.

"Sergeant," said Roy. "Well done. You protected your team from attack."

"But sir - "

"It's pretty bad," Breda said, unfortunately choosing that very moment to report. "Gut wound."

"He was unarmed," said Kain softly.

"I don't need a weapon," said the wounded man. "I might have killed you before I saw - "

Fuery's face took on a thoughtful look and for the first time Roy felt like making his own gesture of respect to an Ishvalan.

"The other blues - soldiers - will be coming soon?" said the bleeding man.

"Falman, take the watch from Hawkeye and tell her to switch with Havoc. I need someone here with on-the-ground desert experience."

"Yes, sir," said Falman, leaving the tent.

* * *

Bradley slowed his white stallion from a canter to a trot and then stopped. The black and tan Doberman Pinscher that sometimes accompanied him did likewise. Behind him, soldiers poured out of the three jeeps and took up positions facing the field tent. Which was on fire.

Roy walked up to the Fuhrer and saluted.

"Lieutenant Colonel Mustang," said Bradley. "I had heard you were out here. It appears you may have had some excitement here."

"Under control, sir," said Roy, as if he had merely dealt with a minor inconvenience. "I came out hoping to find your would-be assassin and ran into a few Ishvalan rats instead. We did manage to keep one alive for questioning. If I may?"

Bradley nodded.

Havoc and Breda came out with the wounded Ishvalan walking unsteadily between them. The Doberman showed its teeth and growled.

"I'm disappointed, Lt Colonel," said Bradley. "He looks like he'll hardly make it through a normal interrogation, let alone the more - persuasive - kind that would be needed to make him talk." Bradley looked toward the tent. "And I'll find nothing in there either, will I?"

"My apologies, Fuhrer," said Roy, bowing stiffly. "I've failed to find the assassin or any leads."

"Never mind. You may still do me a service." Bradley looked at the Ishvalan. "Tell me what you know and you'll die quickly. Keep silence and Lt Col Mustang will roast you to death slowly. He has some experience with that, I believe."

Roy nodded stiffly, face blank.

"I don't know anything," the man answered.

"Why did I know that would be your answer?" said Bradley, shaking his head sadly as if correcting a schoolboy caught cheating. "Lt Colonel, if you please?"

Roy sent a flame that gave the man the equivalent of a blistering sunburn over his whole body.

"Now, let's see if that's improved your knowledge," said Bradley.

The man trembled, but stood firm in his insistence that he knew nothing.

Bradley nodded toward Mustang, who sent another flame. This time the man fell to the ground without even crying out.

"You are insubordinate, Mustang!" said the Fuhrer through tightly clenched teeth.

Roy bowed stiffly again. "I have failed you again, Fuhrer. I don't have the fine control I had a year ago."

Bradley searched Mustang's face for clues but the eyes were dead and the face totally blank. "We _will_ search the tent," said Bradley. "Leave, Mustang. You and all your people!"

"Sir!" said Roy, clicking his heels together and saluting.

Breda and Havoc followed him to where the others were supposed to be waiting by the jeep truck. They were there and so was a jeep, but it wasn't the one they'd come in. Instead of an open bed in the back, it had a third row of seats.

"You've checked it, Second Lieutenant Hawkeye?" he asked.

"Yes sir," she answered.

"You drive," he said. "I'll sit in front."

Havoc and Breda got in the second row, Falman and Fuery in the third.

They drove for a while in silence.

"He wasn't going to talk," Havoc said.

"I didn't think he was," Roy answered coolly.

But somehow, the voice didn't scare Jean anymore. "He _knew _what was going to happen and he _volunteered _and he wasn't going to talk. Sir."

"That's enough, Second Lieutenant," said Roy.

Heymans suddenly realized he wasn't afraid anymore either. Of _any_ of them.

"Hav," he said. "Some things are more important than the mission. You're out of line. Sir."

"Then what chance do we have?" Jean answered. "_He_ doesn't have any limits."

"Maybe that's why we _do_ have a chance," said Kain.

"You realize that makes absolutely no sense at all, don't you, Sergeant?" said Riza, in a voice which somehow managed to convey that she was in total agreement with him.

She squeezed Roy's hand for a moment before putting her hand back on the wheel.

Jean saw and sat back in his seat. "You got that right, Second Lieutenant," he said.

"We're dead in the water," agreed Heymans with a sigh.

None of the exchange made any sense at all to Vato, but since Fuery didn't seem upset he figured it must be okay. He sat back against the seat and closed his eyes. It had been a long day.


	26. Drinking Buddies

**Drinking Buddies**

The alchemist Maes had in mind worked for him in Central, which would add hours to the travel time, but it couldn't be helped. But Maes had another friend with a fast motorcycle. Armstrong would get to the place Roy had indicated well before daybreak.

* * *

Breda and Havoc, both being Second Lieutenants, were in the same section of the BOQ, so Hawkeye let them off together.

It was odd to be returning with less baggage than they'd left with. Scratch that - no baggage at all. It had all burned in the fire, at least anything that hadn't been put in the chamber with the Ishvalans. They got to the door of Havoc's room first.

"See you tomorrow," said Havoc.

"You gonna have something to drink?" asked Breda, instead of returning the farewell and going on to his own room.

"You got a problem with that?" asked Havoc.

"Only if you don't share," Breda answered.

Havoc waved him inside the small studio apartment. Breda closed the door while Havoc got out a bottle of cheap whiskey and a couple of cups, since he didn't have any glasses. They sat on the sofa and started to drink.

* * *

"Warrant Officer?" asked Hawkeye, instead of driving off. "You know where the Lt Colonel and I live off-base. Could you take it from here?"

"Yes, sir," he answered. Falman moved to the driver's seat and Hawkeye got in the second seat behind him, where she could keep an eye on Mustang. Fuery hesitated a moment but then moved up to sit beside her. He thought it would seem unfriendly to make her sit alone when he was by himself too.

* * *

Jean tossed down another whiskey. "Bet ya want some answers, don' ya, Manny?"

After the first few drinks, Jean had decided he was on a first-name basis with Breda. He had also decided that Heymans was too hard to say.

Heymans poured more of the stuff into his cup. "Sure, Hav. Always."

Jean laughed, more of a giggle actually, as if he had already answered and was laughing at the joke.

"Thanks, man," Jean said, looking at his cup and seeing that it was miraculously not empty again. He took another big gulp.

"You are so smart," he said, in a voice suddenly gone solemn. "There you were, out in Creta, they said kill those two guys and ... " here his voice dropped to a whisper and his eyes went wide "... you _didn't_." Then his voice went back to normal. "Man, those guys sure are lucky _I_ wasn't there. I woulda been 'bang, bang' ," he said, pointing a finger on each hand and making sound effects. "Babies, old geezers, pregnant ladies, bang! bang! bang! But not you. Cuz you're smart. You get out that chess board in your head and ... "

He opened a trunk on the floor and started rummaging through it. "Here, I got this," he said, and pulled out a cheap cardboard chess set. "I even got a book - 'Chess for Complete Beginners' - that's me," he said and giggled again. "You see, the old man, Grumman, he plays chess and he didn't fuck up in Ishval. Falman, too - didn' give'em the report they wanted - he didn't fuck up either. And you didn' either. So I thought -"

Once more he trailed off as if he'd already said everything, while he tried to remember how to set up the pieces on the chess board he'd set on the coffee table in front of the sofa. He finished the liquor in his cup again and once again, Breda poured more. Jean grinned. He liked the way that was working out.

Then he leaned toward Breda and jabbed him in the chest with his index finger. "But what I don't get is, how come Mustang fucked up so bad?" He counted the points on his fingers. "Smart. Plays chess. I get how I messed up so bad, but how come Mustang - ?"

But Heymans wasn't feeling particularly smart at the moment. Yes, he knew it had been genocide, yes he knew that meant killing _everyone_, he even knew Havoc had been there and hadn't Havoc described exactly what that had meant out there by the shelter? "Standard Operating Procedure was strafe first, then take care of _whoever _was still alive."

He looked at Havoc, playing the country bumpkin to a tee next to him. He was scratching his head now with a puzzled look in his eyes, which were drooping from too much booze.

"You thought Mustang was going to have you kill the kid," Breda stated.

Havoc looked over at him with a silly grin. "Stupid, right?" he said, then went back to frowning at the board. "No way he'd a had me do that. He woulda done it hi'self. Where's this one go?" he asked, holding up a piece.

Heymans set it down in the right place.

"I ain't the brightest, but I usually figure things out event'ally. See, all I had ta do was disobey orders. Yeah, maybe it's jus' me and they jus' get someone else t'do it anyway, but maybe it's not. Maybe it's more than jus' me. Maybe it even gets to be enough to make a diff'rence, slow things down, maybe. Major Armstrong, that's what he did." There Havoc paused and looked at Breda. "Does he play chess?"

"No, he doesn't," said Heymans.

"Anyway," Jean continued, "I got back from Ishval and figured it out but I was too late. I wanted them to send me back so I could do it right, but then it was all over and it was too late." Here, he made a mournful face and shook his head. "No do-overs."

"Hav, I wasn't that smart in Creta," said Heymans. "There wasn't anybody going to step up and take my place no matter what I did. It wasn't general policy I was dealing with - just one crazy captain. I don't know what I would've done if I'd ended up in Ishval like you did."

"You'd've figured out somethin'," Jean said with certainty. "Like, you know, you're gonna do now. About th'Lieutenant Colonel and Bradley."

"Yeah, about that," Heymans started to say.

"You were right," said Jean earnestly. "I _was_ out of line. It's that disobeyin' orders thing. I mean if we all keep on doin' th'same stuff all over again, wassa diff'rence, right? But I don' know what we're gonna do. Th'Lieutenant Colonel disobeyed a' order. In front of people an' ev'rythin'."

"Not technically," said Breda. "Mustang's good at thinking on his feet - he gave Bradley an out with that line about 'not having the same control' he used to have. He gave me something I can work with."

Jean smiled trustfully at Heymans and held out his cup. His faith was rewarded with a cup refilled. He sighed with contentment and took another big gulp. "Yeah," he said. "It's not jus' me this time."

The last cupful did it. Hav's chin dropped down on his chest and he started to snore. Hav was bigger than him but Heymans was at least as strong. He pulled down the murphy bed and got him onto it without too much trouble. Boots off, trousers off, the jacket was already off. Hav could sleep in his underwear.

Heymans looked at the bottle. It was almost empty and he hadn't even finished his first drink. It was the oldest trick in the book to get information and Hav not having any glasses, only cups, had made it even easier to pretend to be drinking. But after all he'd heard, he wished there was more than half a drink left for him. Still, he drank what was there and then settled himself on the sofa to sleep instead of going down to his own room.


	27. Drop Offs

**Drop Offs**

Maes made a call to Lt General Grumman. It was the middle of the night, more like early morning actually, but it wasn't unknown for Hughes to harrass his friends in the middle of the night - and he considered himself to be friends with half the military. "Hey Lt General," he said. "I know it's late but I just got the greatest idea for my honeymoon. Do you have a minute?"

* * *

Hawkeye's appartment wasn't far from Headquarters, but it was on the opposite side of HQ from the BOQ. Then Falman ran into some construction and had to take a detour. The ten minute drive ended up taking almost half an hour. Long enough for Fuery to nod off.

When they stopped and Roy looked in the back seat, Fuery was asleep, his head pillowed on Hawkeye's shoulder. His first reaction was anger, but there were few men he would consider less likely to take advantage of such a situation and few women more able to prevent it. Hawkeye gave him a small smile and his mood changed to a certain wistfullness. There had been a time ...

Vato turned to look and smiled as well. He reached back and gently tapped Fuery on the right shoulder. "Kain?" he said. "Wake up." Roy looked at Falman in surprise. He'd never heard Falman use anyone's first name before.

"Coming" said Kain, still half asleep. He blinked his eyes and felt the shoulder he was leaning against. "Sepha?"

Then he saw the light hair. His sister's hair was black, of course, like everyone else in their family. He jerked up and back so fast he hit the door of the car behind him and bumped his head on the roof. "Sir, I'm sorry sir, I didn't mean - ." He seemed to be trying to button up his jacket and salute and open the door all at the same time.

"At ease, sergeant," said Hawkeye, holding back a laugh.

Roy, however was merciless. "Once you're finished getting dressed, sergeant, do you think I can trust you to escort the Second Lieutenant to her door?"

Riza looked at him. "Escort?" she mouthed. Then she saw his smirk and rolled her eyes.

Fuery, meanwhile, had finished buttoning his jacket the second time (the first time he'd gotten some of the buttons wrong) and could tell the Lt Colonel was making fun of him now. Second Lieutenant Hawkeye was more likely to be sent to escort _him_ than vice versa. Well, at least it looked like no one was mad at him.

"Sir?" he asked, looking at her.

She nodded her head and waited for Fuery to come around and open the car door for her. Then he took up a position a step behind her and to the right, as he'd seen her do with Mustang. Roy chuckled as he watched the two disappear behind the door to the building, then noticed Falman's questioning look.

Oh. "So Warrant Officer, who's this Sepha? I didn't know the sergeant had a girl friend." Roy was starting to feel a little guilty.

"Sepha is the oldest of his sisters, sir," said Falman. "I think you embarrassed him."

Suddenly, the whole thing seemed surreal. He'd come this close to torturing a man to death again just a few hours ago, had actually started to in fact and gotten lectured by Havoc for _not_ going through with it. And now Falman was making him feel guilty for a little practical joke.

* * *

Riza stood to the side of her window and watched with rifle in hand and the window cracked open until Fuery had made it back to the jeep. She didn't expect anything to happen or she would have protested the Lt Colonel's little joke but still, better safe than sorry. She also wished Falman had dropped him off before her, but his place was close.

When the jeep had driven off, she changed into her pajamas and hung up her uniform neatly. Then she got a glass of water and sleeping pills and sat on the bed next to the phone. She wouldn't sleep until she knew he was safely back in his apartment.

* * *

After Falman dropped Mustang off at his apartment, Fuery took his place in the front seat. They drove in silence back to the enlisted bachelor quarters. He let Fuery off and then, since it was so late, just parked the jeep in the parking lot where a few of the officers in the BOQ had cars.

* * *

When Roy got to his apartment, he picked up the phone and dialed right away. "Hi Mom, I'm home," he said when Hawkeye picked up.

"Be a good boy and go straight to bed. You have a big day tomorrow," she snarked back.

"Ah, gee, you never let me stay up and have any fun," he returned with a little-boy whine.

"Fun is over-rated," she answered, but he could hear the smile in her voice. Mission accomplished.

After he hung up, he threw off his uniform in a pile on a chair and got a bottle and a water glass. He set them on a table next to the window and sat down next to it, in his underwear. He eyed the bottle. A little over half full, but it was strong and he knew exactly how much it would take to get him drunk enough to sleep. He poured the first glass.

* * *

Riza didn't like the sleeping pills. Yes, they got her to sleep without any dreams, but it seemed like you took them and then the next minute you were awake again, without any intervening time. It was weird and not particularly restful but it was sleep. She had to be rested and fully alert tomorrow morning. Who knew what Bradley might pull?

* * *

Vato had slept most of the way back in the jeep, until Second Lieutenant Hawkeye had had him take over the driving. A sensible woman - she had made sure she wasn't alone with any one of them and especially not with the Lt Colonel. He'd understood Second Lieutenant Breda's concern and he was also certain that there was a strong bond between the two, which only became clearer and clearer with time. But they were both married to the mission. And after seeing them with the Ishvalans, he was beginning to understand a little better what that meant.

He went over to a small table set below some pictures of the people in his family who had died. He stuck a couple of incense sticks in the holder and lit them. Vato wasn't a true believer like Kain or so many of the Ishvalans, but he was a soldier and he believed in hedging his bets. A little reverence to the ancestors couldn't hurt. He fell asleep to the sweet smell of the burnt offering.

* * *

Kain had his own preparations to make before bed. There was a prayer and a ritual that needed to follow the killing of a man. He'd have a priest do the last part when he had a chance. He fell asleep with the image of the Ishvalan he'd fatally shot still in his mind.

* * *

Roy was only on his second drink. Hawkeye would kill him if she could see him now, right in front of the window. "What do you think you're doing, sir?" she would say, "making yourself a target like that!" What he'd actually like to do was run out in the street and make himself a real target, but just taking this little risk was all he had the energy for at the moment.

He'd bet anything Havoc was wasted by now. Roy smiled when he remembered the look on Havoc's face when he'd handed him the baby. _That's what he joined up for_, he thought.

He'd bet anything Breda was a drinking man, too. _They're probably wasted together and singing stupid songs._ He looked at the drink in his own hand and wished he was drinking with them instead of by himself. _Can't do that. I'm not one of the guys._

He finally finished the drink in his hand and poured another. The whole screwed up operation had been like some kind of morbid replay of Ishval, right down to the crazy Ishvalan attack on the tent.

_Shit_, he thought. _Fuery had to shoot that one. And I had to go and give him a hard time about falling asleep on Hawkeye's shoulder._ But the little guy seemed okay with it. One minute he seemed so child-like and nervous and naive and the next he'd get this wise, solemn look in his eyes. He was the one that had put him through to Maes, so if the Ishvalans made it out alive, it would be partly his doing.

_And Falman's too_, he thought. He was a strange one too. One minute he'd be the most clueless, awkward soldier Roy had ever seen and the next he'd be giving them the rate of carbon dioxide buildup in an enclosed space. And it wasn't just his memory. That was unique, but he'd known many soldiers forget their own names in a crisis. Falman didn't. He just kept right on bringing up those arcane facts that they didn't even know they needed until he brought them up.

He really had a great team. Roy looked at the third drink in his hand. He owed them better than coming to the office in the morning with a hangover. Especially since he had to be prepared to deal with whatever Bradley was going to throw at him. He capped the bottle and threw what was left in his glass down the sink.

It wasn't worth getting into bed though. He wasn't going to sleep. So he moved the chair away from the window and picked up an Alchemy Journal he subscribed to. As it turned out, he actually did fall asleep in the chair while he was reading. And didn't dream.

* * *

**Author's Notes**

According to www dot abarim-publications dot com slash Meaning slash Cainn dot html, the gospel of Luke uses the same Greek spelling to write the name of Cainan, great grandson of Adam, as is used for Adam's son Cain.

I've come up with possible names for Kain's whole immediate family using the names in Luke 3:37-38:

{3:37} who was of Methuselah, who was of Enoch, who was of Jared, who was of Mahalalel, who was of Cainan,  
{3:38} who was of Enos, who was of Seth, who was of Adam, who was of God.

I got the name Sepha from Seth, by changing the th to an f sound and adding an a to make it sound feminine.


	28. Buried Alive

**Buried Alive**

It was bright mid-morning when the train came in from Resembool with one of the cars full of sheep. Some would be unloaded here for the butchers in East City while most would continue on to Central City. The station manager looked the other way as some Ishvalan passengers made their way off the train with the sheep. Officially, there weren't any Ishvalans in Amestris anymore, but with the Civil War over now, more of them were coming back to look for relatives. And it was good business for him. The money they paid went directly to him, since they weren't officially on the train in the first place.

A kid with Ishvalan relatives but without the Ishvalan white hair or red eyes met the two men and the woman with the baby. He took them to the slums just outside East City where his people lived.

When they got there, they had a strange tale to tell Cleric Bozidar, master and priest of Ishvala:

* * *

"We have to get them out of here," Roy started when Havoc walked in. "I assume if you don't think we could evade Bradley's people over ground, we can rule out the possibility for them as well?" He swept his right arm to indicate the Ishvalans.

Havoc nodded. "They could go to ground again. Bradley doesn't know how many there are and if we camouflage well enough, there's a chance."

"But not a very good one?" Roy prodded, hearing the doubt in Havoc's voice.

"Better than running for it above ground." said Havoc, rubbing his chin.

"What if they go deeper?" suggested Roy.

"Better," said Havoc. "But they still need to breathe, so you still have to have exits for air."

"We have done that before," said the Ishvalan woman's husband. "It works well as long as the air channels don't get blocked."

Roy looked around. "Not outside though. We can't risk being found making the shelter. I'll do it right here, in the tent."

The other uninjured Ishvalan man stood up and headed for a shovel.

"We won't need that," Havoc told him.

"Clear some room," said Roy. He drew a circle in the middle of the floor and bent down to activate the array. When the dust cleared, he was standing at the bottom of a ten foot deep pit.

"Bradley knows you're an alchemist too, sir," said Hawkeye, one hand on her hip, looking down at him. "What if he decides to just blow up the tent? Wouldn't that get this chamber too?"

"So I make it deeper and give it a nice thick ceiling."

"That would keep them from being blown up, but wouldn't it cover the breathing holes?" Havoc questioned.

"An adult man can survive on the air in a 10 x 10 x 10 ft enclosed space for about 17 hours before succumbing to CO2 poisoning. If he's resting. The oxygen itself is enough for about three times as long," said Falman.

"Three adults, one baby," said Roy. "So about four or five hours for the four of them?"

Falman nodded.

"Five or six hours for two adults and the baby," corrected the injured Ishvalan. "I stay above. I'm dying anyway."

"Believe me," said Roy, "you don't want Bradley to get hold of you. We just need a big enough chamber to let you all breathe until we can get you out."

"It'll be days if not weeks before we could do anything here again without attracting attention," said Breda. He walked over to the table and looked at the map. "It's about 6 miles to the rocks, there," he said, pointing.

"There aren't roads out there," said Havoc. "The jeep'll make it there, easy, but it'll also leave a pretty obvious track. Might as well just put out a sign saying 'Hey, here we are.'"

"Over here," said Breda. "We could dig from there. But that's twice as far. How long would that take you, Lt Colonel?"

"Four or five hours," said Roy.

"And we've got to get there from here, so to give us a margin for safety, they need to be able to breathe for at least seven hours," calculated Breda.

"Twice the volume would give them eight or nine hours," said Roy. "That's still cutting it too close. We don't know how long Bradley's men will keep us occupied before we can leave."

"More importantly, we don't know how long he'll keep _you _busy, sir," said Breda. "We could use another alchemist right about now."

"I'm sure Maes would know someone we could trust," said Roy.

"Do you want to call him, sir?" asked Fuery.

"But we don't have - ," said Roy, then smiled as Fuery turned a few knobs and plugged in a microphone.

"They could intercept our transmissions though," Fuery warned.

"I'll just talk about the wedding," said Roy. "Maes likes to talk about his wedding. It'll take awhile, though. Let me get a good-sized chamber built first."

"Can you offset it?" asked Breda, still poring over the map. "They might hit the field tent directly but if you take it out here," pointing again, "they're less likely to have to survive a direct hit."

Roy nodded. It took him about half an hour to transmute a chamber about four times the size of the field tent, with a ceiling ten feet below the desert surface, in the location Breda had suggested. When he was finished he transmuted stairs to come up out of the pit.

He turned to the Ishvalans, who'd been watching in amazement as the blues had discussed their plans and then built the chamber using alchemy. "Air, water, food. And a ten foot shield between you and Bradley. But it's dark down there. We can't give you light."

Falman had been starting to calculate the supplies that would be needed and gather them together, but he was worried about something. "Sir, won't they notice if some of our supplies are gone?"

"We don't need anything but air," said the Ishvalan. "If you don't get us out, we'll suffocate before we need food or even water."

"I'll burn the tent down," said Roy. "We'll just destroy the evidence. In which case, we may as well throw anything that could make you comfortable down there."

Breda nodded. "We can say we were fighting a bunch of you. We don't know how many of you they think there are."

"And in all the fighting, you obtained not a single captive?" questioned the injured Ishvalan.

"It happens," said Roy. "We weren't usually supposed to take prisoners. Okay, Sergeant, get me Major Hughes."

While Roy spent almost another half hour apparently discussing wedding arrangements with Hughes, the rest of them carried bedding and food and water down to the chamber.

When he got off the comm link, everything was done.

"We'll wait until we hear them coming before sending you down there. We don't want to waste any air. It'll only take seconds for me to seal this up and start a fire."

"It will take more than few seconds for me to get down there," said the injured man.

"Then you go down now," Havoc directed.

"And waste the air? No, I remain here, above."

"I told you," said Roy. "You do _not _want to be captured. Will you kill yourself then?"

The Ishvalan shook his head. "That would be a sin before Ishvala."

"Very well, I can do it," said Roy, crossing his arms. When the Ishvalan winced, he added, "It doesn't have to be fire, although that's a painless death if I make the flames hot enough. Whatever you want, bullet, knife."

"We have morphine, sir," suggested Falman.

"Morphine?" said the Ishvalan. "It is a painkiller, is it not?"

"Yes. But it also causes sleep and in overdose, death," explained Falman.

"Sleep," mused the Ishvalan.

"Morphine it is," said Roy. "Good idea, Warrant Officer."

"Not for me, sir," said the injured man. "For them. If they sleep, they will use less air, will they not?"

"He's right, sir," said Falman. "I don't know the formula so I don't know how much less."

"Do you know the amount for sleep, sir Warrant Officer?"

"Yes. But we don't dare give any to the baby."

"So you won't give any to me, either," said the woman. "But my husband and his brother and my sister's husband will sleep."

Then they waited.

The Ishvalans huddled together and spoke quietly in a language none of the soldiers could understand. The injured man took the baby from his wife's sister for a moment and gave it to her husband with some solemn sounding words, who then responded with his own equally solemn sounding words. Then followed what seemed to be a heated discussion.

Mustang and his group all thought they could guess what that was about.

Havoc went over to talk to the injured man. "Look, you don't want the Flame Alchemist to do it, we understand. Let me. I got lots of practice killing the dying."

At that, the dying man actually smiled at Havoc. "You also fought in Ishval?"

"Yeah."

"But the short black-hair who fed my son, he did not?"

"Nope."

"And the red-hair and the white-hair, they also did not fight there?"

"Just me and Mustang and Hawkeye."

"Ah, the Hawk's Eye."

Hawkeye turned her head at the mention of her Ishvalan title.

"She will be the next to offer to kill me then?"

"Look, mister, this isn't funny. They're going to torture you to death."

"Then it is good that I don't have long to live. You are afraid that I will give you away under torture?"

Havoc shook his head. "You lose more than we do if you break. You wouldn't risk your son's life."

"You are right. The only goal I have now is to make sure my son lives. If you have an Ishvalan to give to your Fuhrer, you will be more free to do as you wish?"

"Who knows? Maybe," said Havoc.

"'Maybe' is good enough for me. I will do this last thing for my son. And for my wife's sister and her husband and her husband's brother."

* * *

**Author's Notes**

Yes, Bozidar is Scar's old Master and the same name I got from Cap'n Hoozit and used in The Toll.

Falman's figures on carbon dioxide and oxygen in a sealed space are based on quick internet research.

My excuse for not naming the Ishvalans is that they think their names are sacred, according to the manga, so they don't use them around Amestrian soldiers.


	29. Next Day

**Next Day**

Bradley was alone in his study in the residential section of the Fuhrer's Palace.

"Mustang disobeyed me!" he said, trembling in barely controlled rage.

"I'm informed that it was a lack of adequate control over his alchemy," said the voice from the shadows, with an undertone of haughty amusement.

"Surely you don't believe that?"

"Of course not. But according to my sources, the Flame Alchemist does not appear to have wanted to thwart you. And at least he made an excuse. More to the point, Wrath, is why he felt compelled to kill the Ishvalan in the first place. Clearly, he was more afraid of what the man might have revealed than of insubordination."

"That I know. He made up some story of engaging a group of Ishvalans that he claims were burned with the tent. But we saw when the fire was started and I inspected the grounds. It didn't burn hot enough or long enough to have completely consumed all human remains. And there were none. I would have seen them with my eye. The Ishvalan would have revealed that he was the only one."

"Does Envy confirm this?"

"Envy mentioned that there were others in the area, but he only drove the one he was playing with to Mustang and the woman is dead. We don't know where the baby is. It was last seen being carried by Havoc towards the tent."

"Then you should have found those remains at least."

"Mustang's story is that he was engaging a group of Ishvalan warriors. The whole operation was clearly planned to further his ambitions. Perhaps he thought it would not be as impressive to present one injured Ishvalan man and the remains of a child."

"What was he doing with the child in the first place? Why not leave it where it was in the shelter?"

Wrath shrugged. "I have noticed that humans are sometimes sentimental, especially about the young."

"I have noticed that as well," said Pride, with remembered annoyance. "So what do you plan to do about Mustang?"

* * *

When Jean woke up, the pounding in his head was tempered by the heavenly smell of coffee from the kitchenette. _Coffee?_

He sat up suddenly in bed, which was a bad idea because the headache got ten times worse and was now joined by nausea. He managed to get to the bathroom in time.

Stomach emptied, only the pounding headache remained. And by that time, he had a clue as to who had fixed the coffee. Breda must have been as wasted as him and stayed the night.

He took a couple of aspirin and staggered over to the kitchenette.

"Morning, Hav," said Breda, just as two pieces of toast popped up in the toaster. He put them on a plate without bothering to put anything on them and set them on the table, together with a cup of coffee. "You look like shit."

Jean sat at the table, bleary-eyed. "Why don't you?" he grumbled and took a bite of the dry toast and a swig of the black coffee.

Breda patted his stomach. "More mass to absorb the booze," he said. Then he realized he didn't want to lie to Hav.

"I let you have most of the bottle," he admitted. "Wanted to loosen you up to find out what yesterday was all about."

Jean had a feeling he should be mad at that, but he felt too awful to handle any violent emotions at the moment. "That was low," was all he could manage. Then, "Thanks for the coffee and the toast."

"I'd say I'm sorry, but it's part of what I do. If you want to deck me when you're feeling better, I won't stop you."

Jean was remembering something and turned to look at the sofa and the coffee table. _Oh gods, the chess set was out._

Breda followed where Hav was looking. "You're not stupid," he said. "And you don't need to play chess to prove it."

Jean drained his cup and held it up to refill. "Just coffee this time, Breda, okay?"

"Manny," Breda corrected. "Manny is fine. And you don't have anything _but_ coffee left around here. After you passed out last night, I looked."

Jean grinned. The aspirin must have been taking effect, because it wasn't _too_ painful. "Serves you right," he said.

* * *

Havoc actually wandered into the office a little earlier than usual, but only because he hadn't spent his usual half hour at the range first. Hawkeye, Falman and Fuery were already there. He went straight for coffee.

Roy came in just a little bit later, almost a full hour earlier than usual.

Falman was so startled he blurted out, "Are you all right, sir?"

"I think so, Warrant Officer," Roy answered with a slight smile, then looked at the clock on the wall. "Although you've probably never seen me here this early. When does Second Lieutenant Breda usually get in?"

"Another half hour, sir," said Fuery. "The conference room is ready whenever you need it."

"Thank you, Sergeant," Roy said. He looked carefully at the young man. He seemed somber, but all right.

Everyone was quiet and looking toward him, expectantly. "Well, that's it. Don't you have something to do until Breda gets in?" he said, more sharply than he'd intended.

"Hey, Lt Colonel, I can hear you fine," complained Havoc. "Do you have to talk so loud?"

Fuery frowned, puzzled. "He's not talking - ." Falman smiled and shook his head at him, so that he broke off and went back to work, checking some of the equipment on his table.

Falman picked up some filing to do. Havoc sat and stared at the top memo he'd taken from his inbox, to make it look like he was doing something. Hawkeye was sorting through paperwork, much louder than Havoc thought was strictly necessary. Mustang picked up something to read.

After a while, Breda walked in, tea in one hand, briefcase and bag of donuts in the other. He stopped just inside the door when he saw Mustang and looked over at the clock on the wall. "What are y - ," he started.

"I'm early," said Roy, exasperated. "I assure you, I haven't been replaced by an exact duplicate. Let's - "

There was a loud knock on the door and it opened suddenly, hitting Breda and knocking the cup of tea and the briefcase out of his hands. Somehow, he managed to keep hold of the sack of donuts, but the cup shattered and tea spread out over the floor.

"Lt Colonel Mustang," boomed a deep manly voice, whose owner then seemed to notice the destruction he'd caused.

Havoc laughed, but only weakly, being otherwise in too much pain from all the loud noise.

The major, who must have been at least two feet taller than Breda, but even more impressively, twice as wide, leaned over the mess and drew a circle on the floor where the cup had broken. He activated the array and the shards of the cup flew back together and the tea gathered itself back into the cup. "Forgive me, second lieutenant," he said, handing the cup back to Breda.

Breda looked up at the alchemist, then down at the cup. He'd seen very little alchemy in his life and it still seemed almost like magic to him. "Thank you, sir," he said. Then he took a sip of the tea.

Falman looked away, Fuery covered his mouth, Hawkeye rolled her eyes and Roy smirked.

"What?" said Breda nonchalantly, gathering up his briefcase and walking over to his table between Havoc and Fuery. "The good major fixed it."

"You are gross, man," Havoc said quietly when Breda got there. He grabbed the sack from Breda's hand and took out a donut. All he'd had for breakfast had been the dry toast and he was recovered enough now to be hungry.

"You must be Major Armstrong," said Roy. "You work for Major Hughes. He's told me a lot about you."

"Yes, sir," Armstrong said, and saluted.

Roy returned the salute quickly, annoyed. "Go on," he said.

"The Major has asked me to give you these documents about his honeymoon plans and get your input," he said, handing him a manila envelope.

For a moment, the office was so quiet you could hear a pin drop. Not the usual reaction to those subjected to the endless details of the Hughes' nuptials. Roy looked at Hawkeye then at Armstrong. "He sent you all the way from Central for this? This had better be good," he said, taking up the more normal annoyed tone.

Hawkeye got up and looked over the others while Roy peered into the envelope. "I didn't realize you were so interested in Major Hughes' honeymoon. Perhaps you would like me to volunteer you to help out?"

"Oh, man," said Breda. "That just sounded sooo wrong."

Hawkeye wacked him with an interoffice memo.

"It_ is _good," Armstrong assured him. "I will be back later this afternoon to take back the package and collect your comments. Sir!"

He saluted again and this time Roy rose when he returned it.

When Armstrong had left, he waved the others towards the conference room, but instead of following them right away, just sat back down at the desk and rested his head for a moment on his folded arms. Hawkeye also stayed back. She went over and put a hand on his shoulder. He sighed and lifted his head part way, looking up at her.

"It worked," he said, very softly.

She nodded.

Then he got up and they both went into the conference room.


	30. Meeting the Fuhrer

**Meeting the Fuhrer**

Roy walked out of his team meeting straight into the custody of four military policemen, who had been waiting in the staff room to drive him to Central to meet with Fuhrer King Bradley. Since he was not actually under arrest, he was not disarmed.

If Brigadier General Hakuro could have seen the State Alchemist Recruiting Office over the next few hours, he would not have recognized it. Perhaps he would have attributed the industriousness of the staff to Mustang's absence. But the truth of the matter was that there was nothing any of them could do for Mustang at the moment and there was plenty of work to catch up on that they had let slide during the Ishval operation. It also kept their minds off of what might be happening in Central HQ or on the way there.

* * *

An officer in Roy's escort knocked on the door to the Fuhrer's office and announced him. When he entered the room, Bradley was facing him, sitting casually on the front of his enormous desk. And there, standing next to him, was his small son, Selim.

"Daddy!" said the boy. "It's the Flame Alchemist." His eyes sparkled with hero-worship.

"I hope you don't mind, Lt Colonel," asked Bradley genially. "Selim has wanted to meet you for the longest time."

"Of course not, sir," said Roy, starting to salute.

"Now, now," said the Fuhrer, waving his hand, "that's not necessary. Why don't you sit down over there?"

He indicated armchairs set around a low table. An enlisted man placed a silver tray of tea and biscuits on the table and stood by. Roy sat down across from the Fuhrer and his son.

Selim tugged on his father's jacket sleeve. "You said I could see him do flame alchemy," he said, in a clearly audible whisper.

"Lt Colonel, would you mind a simple demonstration for my son?" asked Bradley.

"That might be dangerous, sir," Roy answered, stalling for time to think of something. He'd anticipated some test of this kind, but not in front of a child.

"Of course," said Bradley. "You don't have the same fine control over your alchemy that you used to have."

Selim jumped up and down, looking to be on the verge of a tantrum. "I don't believe it!" he said. "The wonderful great Flame Alchemist! Please! Please! You're just saying that because I'm a little kid."

"Selim, that is quite enough," Bradley said. Then he turned to Roy. "Here is an old report," he said, handing it to him. "Surely it would be safe enough for you to burn this."

Roy took the report, several sheets of paper stapled together. The title page read, "Mustang Camp Forensics Report."

"Don't worry," the Fuhrer answered when he saw Roy's hesitation. "I have plenty of copies in the file."

"As you wish, sir," said Roy. The little boy got even more excited as Roy got out a glove and slipped it onto his right hand.

"Would you like to touch it?" he asked Selim, leaning forward and smiling kindly. Selim was just a child. Whatever his father had in mind, he wasn't to blame for anything.

Selim's eyes went wide. "Really? But what if I start a fire?"

"You'd have to be an alchemist to do that," Roy said. The boy touched the glove with its red embroidery, in awe.

Then Roy put the paper on the parquet floor a few steps away from the seating area. "Are you watching?" he asked the boy. Then he rubbed fingers and thumb together. There was a _snap_ and the report caught fire.

"Wow!" said Selim.

"All right, Selim, please return to your tutor. Your father has business with the Flame Alchemist now."

"Yes sir, Daddy," the boy responded. "I'm going to be an alchemist just like the Flame Alchemist when I grow up," he crowed, taking the hand of the enlisted man and leaving the room by a different door than Roy had entered through.

The Fuhrer took a sip of his tea, looking every bit the proud father.

"Your son is a fine young man," Roy said.

Bradley just nodded his head. Then, as if he were talking about nothing more important than the weather, he asked, "Lieutenant Colonel Mustang, do you know of any reason I shouldn't have you court-martialed for public insubordination?"

He'd been prepared for something like this, but the Fuhrer had almost managed to catch him off guard anyway.

Roy answered, matching the Fuhrer's light tone. "Because you already know what happened, I'm useful, and now you have this to hold over my head."

"The Ishval Civil War is over, Lt Colonel," said Bradley. "You're not _that_ useful." He smiled broadly.

"Is there anything I can do?" asked Roy. "I so hate being useless," he added, keeping up the light tone.

"I understand your desire to cover up the fact that your entire, _unauthorized_ operation was an abject failure. Still, the little fire you set was noticed and requires an explanation. I believe the Hero of Ishval can yet be useful."

He handed Roy a packet. "Return to East HQ. This contains papers promoting you to Colonel and a list of appearances you will be required to make."

Roy took the packet and started to open it.

"Now, Mustang!" Bradley barked, all geniality suddenly gone.

Roy stood, face flushed, clicked his heels and saluted. "Sir!" he said, then made a precise about face and left the room.

* * *

If there was a more humiliating way to be promoted to Colonel, Roy Mustang hadn't heard of it. There was no formal ceremony. In fact, there was no ceremony of any kind. There wasn't even a formal announcement. He had only the official memo from the packet.

During the first few days of wearing his new rank, he had to constantly answer questions about when he'd been promoted and why no one had heard about it. Some people actually thought he was just pretending. He finally had Falman make copies of the promotion memo and post it to all the bulletin boards in East HQ.

The promotion had come with none of the usual perquisites of the position. His pay wasn't increased (Falman hadn't thought that possible, but then found that the Fuhrer had passed a single amendment to the Payroll regulations for his benefit alone), his staff wasn't increased, his requisition budget wasn't increased. The only things that were increased were his responsibilities, which now included a number of public relations appearances he was expected to make and a monthly quota for contacts with potential alchemist recruits.


	31. Private Meeting

**Private Meeting**

Havoc, Breda, Falman and Fuery were all in the staff room under strict orders not to let anyone into the small conference room unannounced. The Colonel was meeting with Hawkeye.

The men were nervous. This meeting had been called with no preliminaries and no clue as to what it was about. And unlike the other times Mustang had been alone in the room with Hawkeye, the door was not open a crack. It was shut all the way.

Worst of all, since the main staff room was not secure, they couldn't even speculate among themselves.

Each man dealt with the tension in his own way.

Fuery was methodically dismantling a contraption on his table. Breda had grabbed a bag of chips from his food stash and was stuffing them in his mouth with one hand while he doodled on a piece of paper with the other. Havoc was on the far side of the room, eye on the door, pacing. Every once in a while he'd suddenly draw his gun and aim it an imaginary target only he could see. Falman just sat perfectly still and stared off into space, eyes unfocussed.

No one was doing any work.

* * *

Riza was also nervous when they entered the small conference room and the Colonel shut the door. What did he have to talk to her about with none of the others present? Was it something to do with Bradley?

"Second Lieutenant, please be seated," Roy ordered. She sat down and Roy remained standing. She looked up at him, giving him her full attention.

Roy took a deep breath, then sat down at the side of the small square table that was adjacent to her. From there he could look her directly in the eye and was close enough to reach her hands on the table if he wanted to.

"Riza, we need to talk about something," he said.

"Sir," she replied. "Is this appropriate?" She confirmed from the look in his eyes that this would be no professional conversation and felt betrayed that he would do this. She got up.

"Please sit," Roy told her. It was not a request. "And no, it isn't exactly appropriate but it was the only secure way I could think of to discuss this. And it does have a bearing on what we're doing here."

"As you wish, sir," said Riza coolly, sitting down again.

"No Riza," he said. "Not sir. This has to be between Roy and Riza."

"If you're Roy, then I can get up and leave this room. If you're ordering me to stay, then you're not Roy. We can't mix this."

Roy looked at her face, which showed nothing but determination.

"Yes. You're right. You can get up and leave right now. But I'm asking you, not as your commanding officer but as Roy, to stay and talk with me. Please Riza. Trust me on this."

As soon as the words "trust me" were out of his mouth, it seemed as if the meeting he had planned was destined never to take place. How could she trust him?

But Riza looked at his face and knew exactly what he was thinking. "Okay Roy," she said, softening. "I'll stay."

"Thank you," he said quietly.

"I've come to realize something since our recent operation in Ishval," he started. "I don't think I can do this without your help. But I'm also afraid that keeping you so close is endangering everything - you, the mission, the others waiting out there in the other room."

"If you want me to leave, Roy, I will," said Riza calmly.

Roy shook his head. "No, I don't want. I _need_ you here. I _need_ you to watch my back and keep me on track. You're my compass, Riza, the one person I can count on to keep me from becoming a monster again."

She looked him in the eye. "Then of course I'll stay," she said simply.

Roy shook his head. Everything was so clear to her in a way it never was to him.

"I proposed to you once," he went on. "Obviously, if you're staying, that's out of the question now. But only with me. It would be quite acceptable for you to see someone more appropriate and marry him. In case you were thinking you were still bound by your answer back then, I'm letting you know you're not."

"If not you, then no one," was all she said to that.

"Then I've ruined your life," he said, shaking his head again.

Riza smiled at him then. "I'm not a little girl, Roy. I was perfectly capable of ruining my life all by myself."

He chuckled. No indeed. She was not a little girl. "In that case, Riza, my proposal still stands. When ever and if ever it becomes possible without endangering the mission."

She nodded her head.

"Until then, I don't think it will be necessary to speak of this again," he said. "Do you agree?"

She nodded her head again.

Roy reached out his hand to touch her face. Riza turned her cheek into his palm and held his hand. Then she took it from her face and held his hand in both of hers, gently caressing it. For a moment it looked like she might draw him in for a kiss, but then she put his hand down and stepped back.

"We can't tempt each other," Riza said. "If I have to be strong for both of us, if I have to wonder every time we're alone together whether something might happen, I can't do this."

Roy gave a curt nod. "Understood. Are we finished here?"

"Yes sir," Riza answered.

There was a note of sadness to the answer, but also determination and contentment. They knew where they stood now. One way or another, they stood together.

* * *

When the door opened, four faces were fixed on the two officers that exited. Havoc had half expected their uniforms to be in some disarray, but to his relief, they weren't. Breda noticed that both of them met his eyes easily. Fuery felt that whatever the meeting had been about, the outcome had been good, so he smiled. Falman waited patiently for the Colonel to get settled and address them.

"A matter between me and Second Lieutenant Hawkeye has been resolved," he told them. "You will be informed about it when and if necessary."

"Er, sir?" asked Falman. "Second Lieutenant Hawkeye isn't transferring out, is she?"

"Indeed not, Warrant Officer," Roy answered with a smirk. "I do believe that would be something I'd need to inform you of."

"Maybe not," said Havoc, unable to resist a chance to come to Falman's aid and make a jab at Mustang at the same time. "After all, we'd find out about that whether you told us or not, sir."

Breda just chuckled. "Most of us would," he said. "At least those of us who actually read the stuff in our inbox."

"Ha ha," said Havoc, who by that time was back at his desk and smoking again. He grabbed a memo from the top of his inbox with a dramatic flourish and began to read out loud, "Changes in the Requisition Form for Ammunition for Training Purposes."

Fuery looked up from reassembling what he'd been taking apart before. "That's from two weeks ago, sir," he said.

"My point," said Breda, drawing a tally mark in the air.


	32. Elric

**Edward Elric**

_Author's Note: the first section of this is my description of Volume 6, pages 124 and 125._

* * *

Ed put down his suitcase, bound tightly with two thick black bands. Someone had sent for Mustang and now he stood at the bottom of the concrete stairs leading to the main entrance of Eastern HQ and waited, a rifle toting soldier wearing a beret on each side of him. He'd stuck his hands in his pockets and the wind caught his red coat from time to time and blew it back and to his left.

Mustang came for him sooner than he'd expected, since he hadn't called ahead. He looked up the stairs and saw him heading down, a vaguely familiar woman soldier following a step behind him on his right carrying a folder. About a third of the way down, Mustang stopped and looked down at him, right hand on hip, looking for all the world like he was striking a pose.

Ed was not impressed. "Hey, Lt Colonel," he called up the stairs.

The boy clearly couldn't read military ranks yet, but it brought back unpleasant memories of the weeks right after his promotion. "I've been promoted to Colonel while you were taking so long to make up your mind," Roy corrected him, sarcastically. "Are you sure you want to do this?"

"Bow wow," Ed answered with angry determination. "Do you want me to wag my tail too?"

Very few people spoke to Colonel Roy Mustang that way, at least to his face. Roy looked down at eyes that burned with the same fire he'd seen in Resembool. "Heh, heh," he chuckled softly to himself.

"All right then, to Central," he said, then added, "But first, we have some paperwork to take care of here. Pick up your suitcase and follow me."

Then the Colonel turned and started back up the stairs without a glance behind. Hawkeye, however, waited for a moment to make sure Ed was coming.

Ed scowled, not sure whether he was more infuriated by the Colonel treating him like a dog he expected to come to heel or the woman soldier treating him like a child. He picked up his suitcase and cleared the distance between them in three leaps.

* * *

They had been caught by surprise, not today, but a week ago. Breda had been getting word from one of the contacts he'd set up in Resembool that the kid's automail surgeries were going much faster than expected. And then last week, word came that he was getting ready to come to Eastern HQ. He was twelve years old.

* * *

As they walked down a hallway in Eastern HQ, Ed heard snatches of conversation that didn't improve his mood, especially from the occasional women who passed by. "... cute ..." "... whose little boy? ..." "... little ..." "... cute ..."

Hawkeye watched Ed out of the corner of her eye, fully aware of what was going on. Roy didn't recognize exactly what the problem was, but he knew the kid was a pressure cooker waiting to explode.

Then First Lieutenant Storch approached. He had volunteered for one of the Intel positions in Mustang's group and been turned down. An ambitious man, he still kept tabs on Mustang. For a while it was because he'd thought he might still have a chance to get in with the up and coming Colonel. Then, when it was apparent that wasn't going to happen, he did it just to get information he could use to ingratiate himself with others. And now here the Colonel was, bringing a child to his staff room. That could be interesting.

"Hello, Colonel," Storch said, forcing all three of them to stop by clicking his heels and saluting, at the same time forcing traffic to flow around them to either side.

Roy whipped his hand up to his forehead and back so fast that Ed didn't recognize the return salute. To him, it just looked like Mustang was brushing back his fringe. "What a poser," he thought.

"So who's this fine young man, sir?" Storch asked, bending down and reaching towards Ed's hair.

"Who are you calling a baby too little to - ?" Ed launched himself into the air high enough to bring his right fist _down _to slam into the man's nose. In just seconds, Storch had a broken nose and seemed also to have lost conciousness.

Mustang didn't even look at Ed. He just looked Hawkeye straight in the eye and said, calmly and quietly, "Staff room. Now. I'll deal with ... THIS." And he turned to the man on the floor who was starting to come around.

Meanwhile, Hawkeye grabbed Ed's left hand in an iron grip and walked so fast that Ed had to run to keep from being literally dragged along the hall. Like a little boy.

A bit further down the hall and Hawkeye pulled open a door on the left and nearly flung Ed into the room, slamming the door shut behind them.

One look at the First Lieutenant and the disheveled boy with her, and the room sprang into action. Havoc drew his gun and moved to the left of Roy's desk, where he had the wall at his back and a good view of the room and the door. Breda unlocked the gun cabinet and took out his own weapon, also keeping his eyes on the door. Fuery put on his headphones and turned some knobs. Falman sat at his desk, quiet and alert.

"Gentlemen, stand down," Hawkeye said, realizing what her abrupt entry with Ed and without Mustang had looked like to the others.

Ed stared.

Havoc casually put the safety back on his gun and holstered it behind his back, then grabbed a cigarette from a drawer in the Colonel's desk and lit up. Breda locked the gun back up in the cabinet, tossed the key up in the air and caught it, then wandered over to the empty table with the chess game out. Fuery pushed the headphones back around his neck with a sigh of relief and looked over at Hawkeye and Ed.

"You must be Edward Elric," said Falman, waving Ed to a chair next to his table. "I'll take it from here, First Lieutenant," he said, nodding respectfully in Hawkeye's direction.

"Thank you, Warrant Officer," she said and sat down at her table.

When Falman looked back to Ed, he'd only managed to take one step toward the chair, "Mr. Elric, if you don't mind?" he repeated mildly, motioning to the chair.

Ed glanced around the room and shook his head, then sat down and started answering questions while Falman typed.


	33. Paperwork

**Paperwork**

By the time Roy walked into the staff room almost half an hour later, he was in a foul mood. Storch had connections and was incredibly good at ferreting out information. They were going to have to do something.

He looked towards Ed. Thanks to the kid's tantrum, he had calls to make and strings to pull, but naturally Falman would have gotten Ed through all the forms already. Which had been the plan before.

_Let's not keep him hanging around too long - and make sure he signs those papers so I get him before Bradley can._

"Warrant Officer, the papers, please," said Roy.

Falman straightened the pile of papers, which were already straight, and walked so crisply to Mustang's table to hand them to him that Ed was almost startled when the man didn't snap to attention and salute. After Falman was back at his table, Mustang held the papers out in the direction of Hawkeye's desk and without looking at her said, "First Lieutenant, review these papers and make sure Warrant Officer Falman hasn't made any mistakes. I want to make sure these are all in order." She came up to his desk and took the papers from his hand without saying a word.

Since he'd entered entered the staff room, Ed had been kept busy with a steady string of questions. By now, though, he was calm again and had begun to think that maybe he shouldn't have reacted quite so - strongly - to that other officer in the hall. He'd even been considering an apology. But something about the way Mustang was talking to his officers rubbed him the wrong way.

"What do you mean?" Ed said. "I bet that guy corrects _your_ paperwork."

"Indeed," said Roy, with a cool voice and a smile that didn't reach his eyes. He sauntered over to the door to the small conference room and paused, a smirk on his face. "I'm going to be making some calls. Please keep the _young man_ occupied until I'm finished," he said, addressing the room, then disappeared behind the door.

Ed stood up. "Who does he think he is?"

"I dunno," said Havoc with a grin. "The Colonel, maybe?"

"But those forms are right!"

"Of course they are," said Hawkeye without lifting her head, and turned to the next form.

"Hey kid," said Havoc, "you smoke?" and he reached his cigarette towards Ed.

"Don't do it," said Breda. "He knows you don't. He just wants to see you gag."

"Wait a minute, how do you know ... ?"

"Gee thanks Manny, I owe you one." Despite the sarcasm, Havoc was still grinning.

Just then, Mustang's voice came through from the other room. "Janette, it's been ages since I've heard your lovely voice."

"So what station do you guys want?" asked Fuery. "First Lieutenant?"

Hawkeye turned to the next form. "Nothing in particular, Sergeant."

Falman looked up from the report he was reading. "Can you get something Drachman? I like their symphonies."

"Sure thing, sir," said Fuery, turning some knobs.

Jean would have preferred pop music, but at the moment he was too preoccupied to voice an opinion. He was practicing his backward-over-the-head bank shots into the waste basket across the room.

"Madeline, how are you? I do hope you're free this Friday," came Mustang's ingratiating voice from the next room.

Breda had waved Ed over to his table to share some food from his stash. "Madeline?" said Ed. "I thought he was talking to Janette?"

"Prob'ly just working his way through the alphabet," said Breda. "You gonna eat that or look at it?"

Hawkeye got up from her table, cast a glance over the room frowning, then left the staff room.

"What happened? Is someone in trouble?" asked Ed.

"Eat up," said Breda, pushing more food on him. Ed stuffed some more in his mouth. "How about you tell us?" he asked. "What happened?"

By the time Ed finished describing the altercation in the hallway, Mustang seemed to have finished calling women. His voice had gone from flirty to bored. "Yes, Maes, I know ... " "No, I'm sure I would never believe ..."

"Does he ever do any actual work?" asked Ed.

"'Bout as often as we do," said Havoc. "Yesss!" he said as three wads of paper rang rapid-fire against the side of the wastebasket and went in.

When Mustang came back into the room, he went to Hawkeye's table and picked up the forms. Falman met him there with a pen. "There, sir, and there ..." Falman turned pages and Mustang signed.

"Hawkeye?" Mustang asked.

"Waiting for you, sir," said Havoc.

Roy put a piece of paper with some scribbling on Breda's table. "Take care of that, will you?"

"Sir," said Breda casually, picking up the paper. "Um-hmm, um-hmm." Then he got up, stashed the paper in a pocket and left the room.

"Havoc, you're in charge until we get back."

"Yes, sir."

Roy strode to the door of the staff room and then paused. "Well, Elric, are you coming?" Roy paused just long enough to see Ed pick up his suitcase, then swept out the door. Ed managed to reach the door just in time to exit right behind him.


End file.
